Where Is Home?
by i-just-really-love-sakura
Summary: A nameless elf saves the lives of Prince Legolas and Captain Tauriel from a spider attack that would have surely overwhelmed them and soon collapses after. Grateful for their lives, they bring him back Mirkwood to heal. From there, things change within Mirkwood, slowly but surely. In Prince Legolas' opinion, the changes are more than welcome. [Chaps 1-4 Edited: 09/29/2018]
1. Chapter 1

**Title:** Where Is Home?

 **Summary:** A nameless elf saves the lives of Prince Legolas and Captain Tauriel from a spider attack that would have surely overwhelmed them and soon collapses after. Grateful for their lives, they bring him back Mirkwood to heal. From there, things change within Mirkwood, slowly but surely. In Prince Legolas' opinion, the changes are more than welcome.

 **Pairing(s):** Bilbo/Thorin  & Tauriel/Kíli

 **Features:** Magic-Wielding Harry

 **Warning(s):** Brief mentions of child abuse  & some graphic descriptions of torture and injuries

 **Author's Note:** Harry will be known as an elf, Hathier (hath-thee-ir).

* * *

 **Disclaimer:** All rights belong to their respective owners of which I am not one of them.

* * *

 **Prologue**

 _"It is our choices, Harry, that show what we truly are, far more than our abilities." ― Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets_

Harry focuses on the plate of food in front of him, lost in his thoughts as people, known and unknown, chat around him in various levels of loudness. Most of what he hears is about him or at him, but he ignores it all anyway. Just a blur of voices too loud or too fast, colors that are too bright, and whatnot.

 _I want to leave_ , Harry thinks. _I don't want to be around anyone._

The "Battle of Hogwarts" as it is dubbed ended a mere few hours ago. And the losses were too much. Ron, burnt to death by a random Death Eater. Hermione, poisoned by the blade Bellatrix LeStrange used to torment her. A slow acting poison that had her dropping to ground, dead, only an hour into the battle. Ginny, missing an arm. According to Mrs. Weasley, Greyback was the cause of this. And like Bellatrix, Greyback suffered at the hands of a nearly hysterical Molly Weasley.

Percy, dead. He died by diving in front of his younger brother, Fred, as the killing curse was aimed at the unsuspecting older twin. Between the twins, over twenty Death Eaters or Voldemort supporters fell, and this is before they found out about Ron.

Then there is Lavender Brown (killed by Greyback), Colin Creevey (the youngest victim; how he died is unknown and Dennis refuses to let anyone come near his brother's body), turncoat Slytherins (like Zabini and Greengrass, both dying to protect the younger Miss Greengrass), and then there are the bodies of the aurors (Shacklebolt and Tonks being some of the ones he recognized).

And Merlin, he has lost Remus.

Too many people.

Too many friends.

Too many family members.

 _It should have just been me_ , Harry thinks. _Only me. It would have been okay._

His dark thoughts are interrupted when a gentle hand grips his shoulder and gives him a little shake. "Harry?"

Blinking once, twice, and Harry looks away from the cold food on his plate to see Luna looking at him with concerned eyes before glancing over her shoulder to see Neville a few feet behind her. Returning his gaze to Luna, Harry takes in her busted lip, the bruising around her neck via Yaxley's hands, and the scrapes along her face and exposed arms. His eyes return to the bruising around her neck. He had seen Yaxley attempt to strangle her, being unable to get to her, and she barely managed a weak _stupify_ to get him off of her. He was dealt with minutes later by Neville, Gryffindor's sword in his hand. A death he so justly deserved.

"Harry?" Luna asks again.

"Do you want to leave?" This time, however, it's Neville who asks.

 _When did he get so close?_

Harry shrugs. "The house elf's went through all the trouble of making everyone something to eat."

Neville snorts. "You haven't touched your food since it was brought to you."

Harry looks down at his plate again. "I thought, maybe, I could...you know, try to eat s-something or whatever."

"Don't force yourself, Harry," Luna says gently. "If you're not hungry, then you're not hungry. The house elves will understand."

Harry shakes his head. "I need," he hiccups, trying to hold back a sob, "I need too, f-for Ron and Hermione and Remus a-and - " A low sob escapes.

He shoves the plate away and buries his face into his somewhat dirty hands. With a loud sob, Harry crumbles over, resting his elbows on the table. Two sets of arms wrap around him, holding him as he cries over the loss of his family and friends, for the innocent lives lost in the battle, for the destruction done to Hogwarts, for the seventeen years of misery he was forced to endure.

"I'm so sorry," Harry chokes out. "I'm so, so sorry! Please forgive me. Forgive me."

"No one blames you, Harry," Luna whispers soothingly into his ear.

"And if they do, I'll cut them with this sword," Neville manages to get out but his eyes are full of tears too.

Shaking his head, Harry replies, "I blame myself. I should have been quicker, should have realized sooner. Neither of you - you didn't - you both - I saw Ron _die_. He was _b-burned alive_. And Hermione, she just - just - she just _dropped_." And then Harry freezes before slumping into the arms around him. "I don't deserve to be alive," he whispers.

Almost immediately his face is gripped between two pale hands and grey-blue eyes stare deep into his own. "Don't," Luna starts, "you _dare_ say that, Harry James Potter. _Ever_."

"Luna, plea - " He tries to speak, but she only shakes her head.

"You're one of my most precious people, Harry, and I want you _alive_."

Harry pulls away and uses a spare napkin on the table to wipe away the trails of tears. Around him, people have moved away. The voices aren't so loud nor a blur of sound. Everything feels calmer. That was his first chance to cry.

"I won't be well for a very long time, Luna."

"I know," she shares a look with Neville and amends herself. "We know."

Neville claps Harry on the shoulder. "You need to rest, Harry. You've done enough."

"You need to be looked over too," Luna mumbles, more so to herself than Harry.

Harry sighs. He is aching all over, but the idea of getting up doesn't sound so pleasant.

"Don't worry," Luna says. "Neville will take you to somewhere to rest now."

Harry allows himself to be dragged up from his seat, wobbling just a bit, before letting Neville place his arm over his shoulder. Harry looks back at Luna while Neville guides him around groups of people and she offers him a kind smile when their eyes meet. Wherever Neville is taking him, Harry doesn't mind anymore. Everything is passing by in a blur of crumbled stone and - maybe - bodies and groups of people and, Merlin, he really needs to sleep.

Harry doesn't recall being settled into bed.

He doesn't remember falling asleep.

 _Where one adventure ends,_

 _Another begins and this is true,_

 _Be it another chapter in your life,_

 _Or the greatest adventure - death. [1]_

The song wakes him, or so he thinks.

Harry is standing in a place that reminds him of Kings Cross, where he met Dumbledore once before, where he was given the option of moving on or going back. Only this time, he's in a white forest with a hazy mist around him. The only contrasts are the slight shadows of the trees. There is no sunlight. There is a river with what he assumes to be water, but no sounds associated with it. Absolutely no sound associated with this forest.

Only the song.

"Am I dead?" Harry wonders out loud.

 _No, you are not. You merely sleep, child._

Turning this way and that, Harry sees no one speaking.

"I'm hearing things," he mumbles to himself.

 _Perhaps, but it may be to your benefit._

Instead of reacting rashly, Harry just sits on the ground and speaks to the trees around him.

"Who are you?" he calls out to the forest. "And where am I?"

 _I am called Varda among my kin, but you will know me as Elbereth Gilthoniel. You are within the projection of my heart._

Harry looks around. "Projection of your heart? Why is everything white?"

 _I am the sun and the moon and the stars. I create the light. My heart is pure and therefore projects light._

"Why am I here?"

 _I bless all who deserve the light. It brings them comfort when facing darkness. Do you feel at peace, child?_

He does feel peace, but not peace he deserves. Harry shakes his head. "I don't deserve this light." He recalls his memories, his decisions, and how he was easily influenced or manipulated into doing someone's bidding.

 _You are wrong, child. You have a pure soul though your heart is not whole._

"My heart isn't whole?"

 _You carry much pain and sorrow in your heart. The loss of your comrades and family leave you with a wound you don't believe will ever heal._

Harry looks down at his hands, clean within this dream world, but doesn't reply.

 _You ache for peace, child._

Harry doesn't say anything because it's the truth.

 _It will not come easy. Your hardships will only increase if you remain in this world._

"Why have you brought me here then?" Harry finally asks. "And how will my 'hardships' increase? I beat Voldemort."

 _I have brought you here to give you a choice. Remain in your world or go to Endor. Should you choose to remain in your world, you will experience treachery by those you thought to be companions. You will not know peace until death by old age._

"And what would await me in Endor?"

 _You will have relative peace for many a century. However, darkness lies within Endor that you will face should you choose to leave your world. There will be war - more than one - and you will not be able to avoid it. Be it of your own free will or not, you will become involved._

"So, I get to choose between betrayal and being bothered until I die or I go to this new place where I'll be okay for many centuries but eventually get involved in more than one war. Both options really suck!" Harry says, point blank. "Also, explain to me how I'd be able to live for many centuries?!"

 _I will grant you eternal life, child. You will not be alone. Should you choose Endor, you will make many a friend who will have extended lives and some who live an eternal life. When the final war is fought, you will be given the choice to sail to a land where you will live forever in harmony and peace._

In the long run, the second option sounded super nice, but he had to ask the questions bubbling inside.

"Can you guarantee that I'll live through these wars? An immortal life doesn't mean an invincible life. What about my friends?"

 _I cannot. I can, however, guarantee that I will answer your call when you need me. It is a risk you must consider. As for your friends...true friends will continue to love you whichever path you take._

Harry glances at a tree, his head tilted in concentration. "Do I have to make a decision now?"

 _No, child. But your time for choosing is short. You must decide by your next sleep when I call you back here._

Harry nods slowly and says in a soft voice: "Thank you."

 _I require no thanks, child. Now rest._

And the white forest fades away.

* * *

[1] I wrote the lyrics.

If you have the time, please review.

~i-just-really-love-sakura

 **Edited (09/25/2018):** I went back and corrected the mistakes I saw. I hope this reads better.

P.S. "Endor" is the Quenya word for "Middle Earth." I am not confusing anything with Star Wars. This choice of word has already been addressed in the story.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter One**

 _"Home is now behind you, the world is ahead." - The Hobbit_

When Harry comes too, he curses silently for allowing himself to be put to bed while he is still covered in dirt and sweat and whatever else. He can just make out the maroon curtains of his bed - or someone else's - in the Gryffindor dormitory. He glances to his right to see, maybe, his glasses resting on the side table next to the bed. Bemoaning his terrible vision, he reaches for them only to have a blurry hand pick them up. A moment later and his vision is clear.

Looking up, he sees Neville standing next to the bed. There's a concerned look on his face, one that Harry is accustom to seeing, as he holds out a cup of water for Harry to take. Taking the cup but not drinking from it, Harry looks around the room in silence before returning his gaze to his hands to look inside the cup. He jiggles it just because he can.

"How do you feel?" Neville asks when the silence rains on for several moments.

"I don't know," Harry replies, shrugging (but also gross). "I had an interesting dream."

"Do you want to talk about it?"

Harry only shrugs. "Not much to say, really. I was given two choices by some bodiless person named Varda. Me being me, this could be a joke or something serious. I can never tell."

"Two choices of what?" Neville encourages the conversation.

"Stay here or go to a place called Endor," Harry replies with a mumble. He lifts the cup and takes a sip of what turns out to be lukewarm water.

 _Better than nothing_ , he thinks.

"Endor?" Neville questions. "I've never heard of a place called Endor. Why would you be given a choice to stay here or go there?"

Harry bites his bottom lip. He contemplates with the idea of telling Neville about the supposed treachery and never having a moment's peace so long as he stays here. The thing is, he really likes Neville. Neville, who is foolishly brave and kind-hearted and completely capable of getting things done. Harry smiles. Neville has come such a long way since their first meeting in first-year. At that, Harry resolves to just tell him.

"The person, Varda, told me that people close to me will betray me," Harry says before taking another sip. The water does help his dry throat. "And that I won't have peace until I die."

"That's pretty intense," Neville responses shortly after. "Is that all?"

Harry shakes his head. "She also said something along the lines of me knowing relative peace for 'many a century' but I'll participate in more than one war following the centuries of peace, however many that will be, or something."

"That's also pretty intense," Neville replies.

After a moment of silence, Harry throws in, "She said she'd grant me eternal life."

Neville laughs, just a little. "Well, yes. That would be necessary if you're being offered peace for centuries."

Harry tilts his head, eyes narrowed. "You're taking this pretty well."

Shrugging, Neville replies, "Why wouldn't I?"

"Other people might think I'm crazy for saying something like that. You know...sense it's me."

"I'm not other people, Harry. But I'll be honest with you, it sounds a little too good to be true. I mean, one one hand, it sounds great because 'many a century' is a long time, but then more than one war follows. But then there's the anxiety-filled belief that you won't be safe around close friends or this possibility of being bothered for the rest of your life."

"Maybe I should talk to Luna?" Harry asks as he throws back the bed sheets. He frowns in disgust when the under sheet sticks to his dirty skin. "Why did you let me sleep when I'm gross?" Harry complains as he gets up, the sheets he was sleeping on also sticking to his body.

"You weren't eating and you weren't all _there_ ," Neville waves his hand. "You spaced out a lot since the battle came to a conclusion."

Harry licks his suddenly dry lips. "Yeah, I mean...yeah." He shuffles uncomfortably. "Merlin, I want a shower."

And that's when Neville holds out his hands. Harry blinks once, twice, before realizing that there's a set of clean clothes in Neville's hands.

"When you fell asleep, I, um, went through your closet for some clean clothes. I figured you want to shower as soon as you woke up."

At this, Harry really looks at Neville. His ruined clothes are replaced by clean jeans, a long-sleeved dark gray shirt, and his hair combed. There are a few bruises along his jawline, a tender scar on the right side of his temple, and bandages around his hands.

"Luna came in to watch over you so I could get cleaned up," Neville states with a shrug.

He hands Harry the clothes, a small smile in place, and gently turns him towards the showers.

"I'll go get Luna," Neville calls from behind him. "She really wants to talk to you. She wouldn't tell me why."

Harry nods before disappearing into the bathroom, not worrying about anyone else following him in. Once the door is closed, Harry places the clean clothes on the sink and stares at himself in the mirror. There's a cut, slowly healing, on the left side of his temple. There's some bruising around his chin, dark purple bags under his eyes, pupils blown. He scowls in disgust when he touches his gritty hair, parts caked in mud or clumped together by sweat.

Harry strips off his shirt, dropping it to the floor without a care. His jeans and briefs soon follow. He places his glasses on the sink next to the clean clothes. Turning to the shower, the moment he gets close enough the shower turns on by its self. Touching the water, Harry thinks 'hotter' and the water's temperature rises. Stepping inside, he doesn't make a sound when damn near blistering hot water rains over him. If anything, it's a welcomed comfort. The hot water comforting his aching muscles as he watches dirty streams of water slide over his skin and pool at the drain.

He reaches blindly for a bottle of shampoo and as he goes to squirt some into his hand he pauses. This particular shampoo belongs to Ron, the minty forest scent that is uniquely his. A sort of choked sound escapes Harry's mouth. And then again. Dropping the bottle, both of his hands fly to cover his mouth as the telltale signs of tears burn his eyes.

One sob. Then two.

And Harry's gone. Hunching over, he covers his face and cries.

He watched Ron burn to death. _Burned alive!_ His best friend. His _brother_.

 _Ron laughing when he found out Harry blow up his Aunt Marge._

 _Ron telling him and Hermione not to talk to him so he can force himself to remember "Draco, the bouncing ferret."_

 _Ron making bullying Slytherins do lines._

 _Ron thanking Hermione over and over again for helping him with his Charms essay._

Just Ron being Ron and being a great person. At this point, Harry collapsed to his knees and hunched over, not caring about the sting the accompanied the force of sinking to the white tiled floor. He slams his fists against the floor of the shower.

"I'm sorry," Harry whispers, face mere inches from the shower floor. "I didn't mean for any of this to happen." He can still hear the pained screams of Ron, Ron who was already being careless after Hermione collapsed and didn't get back up.

Hermione, his other best friend. Practically a sister.

 _Hermione making sure he understands that there are more important things than smarts - friendship and bravery._

 _Hermione firming his belief in not being afraid to speak Voldemort's name._

 _Hermione recognizing that it's okay to break the rules if it means doing what's right and her laughter at Ron's reply._

 _Hermione telling him and Ron she wants to do some good in the world once the war is over._

Gritting his teeth, he shakingly gets to his feet and angrily goes about cleaning himself. He doesn't care if he's too rough with his hair or face. He doesn't think about scraping his fingernails over his body to rid himself of dirt and sweat. The hot water stings the angry lines his nails leave behind but he makes no move in slowing down. He just wants to be _clean_.

Stepping out of the shower is different, like the feeling of walking for the first time. He has to take one step at a time- slowly - or else he'd fall to the ground and not want to get back up. There's a knock on the door.

"Harry?"

It's Neville.

"Harry, are you okay?"

In hindsight, he appreciates Neville not barging into the bathroom despite having the right to come and go as he pleased.

"Give m-me a few minutes!" he calls back, feeling coldness surround him in the sterile bathroom.

He hears some shuffling, some muted voices, and then silence. Grateful, he slowly towel dries himself before not thinking much as he rapidly shuffles the towel over his head. Harry sets about putting on the clean clothes. His favorite pair of jeans, mentally thanking Neville for picking this pair, and comfy briefs as well as a long-sleeved black shirt and a muggle hoodie that Sirius gave him two years ago for Christmas. He slips on his glasses.

Glancing at himself in the mirror, Harry runs his fingers through his hair a couple of times. It's a lost cause, but it helps calm his nerves. Taking a step back, he looks around the bathroom one more time. His dirty clothes are already gone, probably taken care of by one of the remaining house elves. Harry walks to the door and opens it. A moment later, his arms are full of a one, Luna Lovegood, and she's hugging him tightly.

"I could hear you cry," she whispers. "It hurts to hear you cry."

Instead of replying, Harry hugs her close. Harder. Luna is soft, she exudes warmth and tranquility. Harry looks over Luna's shoulder to see Neville standing a bit away. Noticing his look, Neville shoots him a smile.

"Feeling better?" Luna asks out loud after she pulls away.

"I, well, yes?"

Neville snorts. "Yes?"

"Physically, yes. I feel better. Mentally or emotionally? I want to crawl into a hole and die."

"Neville said the same thing earlier," Luna muses as she guides Harry to the door. "I asked him the same question."

Harry and Neville share a look. "There's not much to be happy about right now," Neville says. "Look at our losses."

"We won the war," Luna replies. She is now walking between them, her arms hooked around their elbows, guiding them out of the Gryffindor common room to wherever she wants.

"But look at what that cost us."

She doesn't reply and Harry makes no move to say anything else. Luna escorts them towards the Great Hall where a group of people is waiting outside. Harry has to stop himself from jerking out of her hold. He can see the cleaned, living Weasleys waiting for him as well as few aurors and nameless classmates.

"Harry, dear," Mrs. Weasley starts, her arms open as if to come forward and hug him.

Instead of replying to her, Harry turns to Neville. "How long have I been asleep?"

Neville leans down to whisper, "Only a few hours."

When they're close enough, Mrs. Weasley sweeps him into a warm embrace. The touch is nice, if not a bit suffocating. Harry feels a hand rest on his shoulder and knows it to be Mr. Weasley.

"Are you feeling better, dear?" Mrs. Weasley asks as she pulls away from the hug.

"As better as I can be," Harry replies softly.

"We wanted to talk to you earlier, but Mr. Longbottom and Miss Lovegood told us you were resting."

"Sorry," Harry mumbles.

"Don't apologize," the twins reply in unison. Each is sporting bruising around their temples and exposed arms.

Harry licks his suddenly dry lips. "How are you? All of you, I mean."

"We'll be okay. Funeral arrangements have been made," Mr. Weasley says with teary eyes. "And Ginny is recovering best she can."

Harry nods while looking away. He realizes that if he leaves he wouldn't be attending any of them. The very idea is heartbreaking.

"We just wanted to make sure you were okay before leaving," George says. Harry can see him gripping Fred's wrist tightly, the older twin didn't appear discomforted.

"Where are you going?" Harry asks.

"To take care of things, gather R-Ron's belongings, and Ginny's too, and g-go from there," Mrs. Weasley replies while dabbing at her eye with a handkerchief Harry didn't see before.

"I - okay. I won't keep you," Harry says. He receives a round of hugs before the remaining Weasley family heads off.

Following that, a few aurors stop Harry to ask him questions regarding Voldemort. After making his point clear that Voldemort is truly dead and not, under any circumstances, coming back, they leave him alone. A few classmates, both younger and around his age, come up to him with "thank you's" and hugs and things like small gifts and nicknacks and food ("Eat," Luna demands.).

He takes them with a half-hearted smile, calls them heroes in their own right, and continues on with Luna and Neville. The trio move on from the Great Hall and towards the destroyed entrance of Hogwarts. They keep walking until they're down by the great lake. Luna settles them in a circle on plush grass. They are only a few feet away from the lake.

"I met someone earlier," Luna begins. "In a dream. She was very lovely."

Harry tilts his head. "Did she give you a name?"

"She is known as Elbereth Gilthoniel."

"That's the name of the voice that was talking to me in my dream," Harry says, a little shocked by this. "Or, one of the names she goes by."

Luna nods. "I know."

"What did she say to you, if you don't mind me asking?"

"She came to me about you and where I believe your heart lies. I was also told of the options she would give you."

 _Why you?_ But doesn't voice this. _I don't understand._

"What do you think I should do?" Harry asks. He is now twiddling his thumbs; an anxious habit he picked up from Remus a year or so ago.

"I cannot and will not tell you what to pick, Harry. The choice is yours."

"What would either of you do in my place then?"

Neville crosses his arms over his chest and concentrates on the ground. "Even if I were to go through another war, or several, I'd still take the chance to get out of here. The memories hurt too much and I'd be reminded of everything I couldn't change and the people I couldn't save." Harry flinches away by the time Neville stops speaking, but he does appreciate the honesty from his friend.

"I would leave as well," Luna says. "More so because I would love the escape."

"No one would know me," Harry says, more to himself than them.

"It's a big decision to make, Harry. And only you can make it."

Harry looks down at his hands. He makes a mental list of the pros and cons. "She told me I would have to decide by my next sleep."

Luna sighs. "Really, it's not a fair amount of time."

Neville shook his head. "No, it's not. But it sounds nice. Even if you have to participate in more than one war centuries later."

"I would have to write a will," Harry says. "I'd take only what I need, assuming that I can, and I'd just...leave. To this new world." He rubs his nose. "Would you hate me? Would they hate me?"

Luna grabs his hand while Neville grabs his wrist.

"I could never hate you," Luna says.

"You're a really good friend, Harry. It'd be very hard to hate you."

 _"It's hard to hate you, Harry Potter," Ginny says as she gracefully takes Harry's rejection at becoming romantically involved once again. "But thank you for being honest with me."_

"Okay," Harry says, shaking his head. "Okay, I will do it."

He's going to take this chance.

He's going to be selfish for once.

* * *

He writes a will.

He leaves the entire Black vault (given to him by Sirius) for Teddy, his tiny godson (as well as the Marauders map and a two-way mirror that he hopes will work so that, even if he's not there in physical form, he can still see his godson).

He leaves 2/4 of the Potter vault for the Weasleys (as well as his family's investments). One part of the remaining gold in the Potter vault goes towards the rebuilding of Hogwarts. He keeps the last quarter for himself inside a pouch meant to hold large quantities of things. Harry does this because he doesn't know what kind of money is required in this new world and he may need to make purchases. Besides, gold is gold. Who wouldn't want to at least trade him for it?

After that, he writes four separate letters: one for the Weasleys, one to Ginny, one for the Grangers, and one to the Wizarding World (which he leaves with Neville and Luna with promises that it will be published). In the ones towards the Weasleys and Grangers, he apologizes for not attending the funerals and explains what will become of him. He also hopes that they will find it in their hearts to forgive him one day.

The final letter is addressed to the Wizarding World and is set to be published in the Quibbler after things settle down. In that letter, Harry lets loose all his thoughts and opinions and suggestions for a better, united community. He only hopes that it's taken to heart.

What Harry keeps for himself is as follows: the other two-way mirror, his Firebolt, the elder's wand, and his invisibility cloak (and the gold).

* * *

Saying goodbye to Luna and Neville is hard for two reasons: one) saying goodbye to good friends is never easy, and two) he feels guilty for not doing the same to the Weasleys or Teddy.

He'll live with this guilt for the rest of his existence, but he'll find a way to get in contact with the Weasleys when he goes to this new world since he left one of the two-way mirrors with Andromeda for Teddy as he grows up (should it work). Varda never mentioned taking away his magic and Harry considers himself somewhat creative and stubborn.

Alone in his bed, sheets having been replaced earlier that day, Harry contemplates his life, the ups and downs, the wins and losses, and everything in between. He thinks of his parents, of Sirius, and of Remus. He pictures Ron's and Hermione's smiling faces. He thinks about that small burst of glee at watching Voldemort disintegrate before his eyes.

And with that, he falls asleep.

 _Come along and find your feet,_

 _There is peace in the forest,_

 _Here, the water flows and no sound made,_

 _This is my home that I grant thee. [1]_

It's a different song that wakes him and Harry finds himself liking this song much more than the other, from what he can remember. He's in the same white forest as before, only this time he isn't feeling out of sorts nor is he confused.

 _You have made your choice, child?_

"I have," Harry says.

 _And what is your answer?_

"I choose to go to Endor," Harry replies. "I'd rather know a peaceful life for many centuries and deal with war later than stay where I am and worry about treachery and no peace until I die."

 _I can feel the pain in your heart. It has grown._

Harry moves towards one of the trees, reaching out to touch it. It doesn't feel like tree bark under his fingertips.

"I'm willingly abandoning a life I've known, the people important to me, for something selfish."

 _Selfish as it may be, your friends agree that you deserve this. Do you doubt them?_

"Luna told me that you spoke to her before speaking to me, but she and Neville gave me their opinions and it made making this choice a little easier for me.

 _Her heart is whole. Pure. I could not reach your other friend_ _for he did not sleep._

"Oh," is all Harry offers.

 _You are doubtful._

"Well, yes. I've had unpleasant people try to rip through my head for their own amusement or...offer me false hope or visions. Forgive me if I'm skeptical."

 _I mean you no harm. But I will be honest, the peace you will find will not be without its struggles. Perhaps, I should have used a different word. Contentedness is much more close to what you will find. You will experience struggles for the world you know is vastly different from the world you will enter. But you will find help and acceptance. You could very well be a hero in your new home as well._

Harry sighs and sits on the forest floor. "I was hoping that I wouldn't have to worry about something like that. For a while, at least. I might fail people's expectations or something."

 _Judging one by one's actions or words is a part of existing and your new life will be made up by your choices. You will not have the same influences you experienced from your original world. In the end, you will make your choices and whether they are good or bad, you must face them with courage._

"I will try," Harry mumbles.

 _I have faith in you, child. I cannot give you all the answers you seek, but I will answer when you call for me. Are you ready?_

Harry looks around.

"There's no going back," he states, gathering what remains of his confidence. "When I wake up, will I have my belongings? Will I still be able to do magic?

 _Do you wish to keep your magic?_

"Yes."

 _Then you shall awake with it. Perhaps a good choice for it will aid you in the coming years._

"Thank you," Harry replies.

 _Close your eyes. When you wake, your new life begins. Aa' lasser en lle coia orn n' omenta gurtha.*_

Harry does what he's told and the white forest around him fades to nothing.

* * *

[1] I wrote these lyrics.

* = May the leaves of your life tree never turn brown. - (Source - Grey Company: Elven Phrases)

If you have time, please review.

~i-just-really-love-sakura

 **Edited (09/27/2018):** I attempted to make this more readable and fix the grammar mistakes I noticed along the way.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter Two**

 _"Let us step into the night and pursue that flighty temptress, adventure." – Harry Potter and The Half-Blood Prince_

"If this is peace, I might have bet on the wrong horse," Harry grumbles as he dodges another arrow shot his way by one of the large, and extremely ugly, creatures covered in some sort of armor and colorful paint. The next one skims his shoulder causing him to hiss. The wound bleeds slowly and there's a throbbing sting that racks over his shoulder and down his back.

"Catch him!" the largest yells, most likely the leader. "He's fresh meat!"

"Why do I always end up in these situations?" Harry grunts, turning sharply to avoid colliding with one of the large wolf-like creatures.

Just an hour ago, he was walking around a relatively quiet forest trying to figure out where he is. He came across a river and nearly fainted at his reflection. Harry has never been the type to think himself handsome or even remotely good looking. Such things weren't important when you're on the run from a Dark Lord hell-bent on killing you.

But at that moment, Harry is surprised and happy; for lack of a better word, when he stared at his reflection. His hair stayed the same deep - nearly black - brown, but the mess of his hair only grew in length. A few good feet down his back, in fact. His hair curls around his face now, framing it in an innocent-like way. To avoid having it in his face, he tied it back in a relatively high ponytail with one of the strings kept to tie up his booted feet. Doing so brought forth the next shocking discovery. His ears are _pointed_. Pointed ears were something else, but that's when he noticed how much better he could hear. His ears carried him to that river when he stopped to really think about it.

His skin is still the same dark tan, his sight is perfect (he didn't wake up with his glasses anyway), and he's taller. Everything was fine until he heard a snap and a group of creatures and their wolf-hybrids were upon him. With his elder wand, he manages to stun a few but more started popping up left and right.

He groans when a thick branch catches his shoulder, causing him to stumble momentarily before he straightens himself and dodges a snarling mouth from one of the wolf-creatures.

"Don't let 'im get away!" A large one yells, a set of arrows ready to launch his way. They are released a moment later, heading for his face. Harry drops down and casts _protego_ in front of himself. That didn't, however, stop one of the wolf-creatures from knocking into him from behind. He hits the ground with a grunt. A growl ripples near his ear. Blinking, he is suddenly face-to-face with a snarling, saliva-dripping mouth. Big teeth and all.

"Ain't had no elf in a while," the rider says, his large L-sharped sword held over his shoulder ready to strike.

"And you're not having any," Harry raises his wand and yells, " _CONFRINGO!_ "

There's a loud shout as a bright blue light shoots out of his wand and hits its target directly in the face. There is a wail of pain and the creature and the rider are gone, but Harry has no time to relax. Just as he moves away from his place on the ground, another is in its place.

Harry moves, much faster this time from a burst of adrenaline, and mentally thanks the dream voice for giving him a lighter body as this new lightness to his feet gets him across the opening and near the river again. He turns and scans the area. There are at least forty closing in on him fast. With a deep breath, he gathers his magic for a final spell.

Looking dead ahead, he raises his wand and shouts: " _FIENDFYRE!_ "

A burst of fire leaves the tip of his wand, taking the form of a very large phoenix, and it covers the entire distance between him and the trees. The wolf-creatures and their riders screech in pain, making attempts to get near the river and ultimately fail. Harry watches with cold eyes as they fall to the ground and quickly burn to ash. When the last of the enemy is gone, the fire disperses.

Then his shoulders sag and he sits down on a fallen tree next to the river. He mentally curses himself for being so careless in this new world. He cases a minor healing spell on the cut on his shoulder, but it only stops the bleeding (for how long, he doesn't know). Harry stares at it in confusion, but as the pain dulls, he doesn't think much of it. He rips off a piece of the cloak he's wearing and does his best to bind the wound. The cloak, now damaged, was found on his person when he woke up.

He had his other things too. In fact, he woke up with a small pack that consisted of his invisibility cloak, the elder's wand, his shrunken firebolt, and the gold he put in an endless pouch along with one of the two-way mirrors. Underneath his travel cloak, he wears a black tunic, matching leggings, and black boots with steel heels. He kind of feels like one of Robin Hood's men in those books he'd sneak from Dudley's room when he was cleaning upstairs.

"Okay, Potter. Think," Harry mumbles to himself. "What's your next move?"

He glances at the sky, noting the sun just barely starting to set, and sighs. He didn't want to camp out in the forest for the night. The memories of his time on the run with Ron and Hermione confirming his need to find some sort of shelter because he has no tent. Maybe a village or town or whatever? He stands up, hoisting his pack over his shoulder once more, and starts off alongside the river in hopes of running into a place to stay. And even if he didn't find a place, the river would provide him enough for the night. Water. Fish. And he'd make do with everything else. Transfiguration is one of his best subjects after all.

The longer his walks along the river, the further into the forest he seems to be going. The atmosphere starts dropping, the air dry, and the aura surrounding himself is utterly dreadful. But still, he follows the river. A few yards later and Harry starts noticing something off. Something or someone is watching him. Not with curiosity nor fear, but something darker. Something evil. Something _deadly_. He finally takes notice of the large cobwebs and pauses.

"Oh, please no," Harry whispers. "I hate spiders." As if hearing his hateful declaration, a large spider shoots out of the clearing up ahead charging at him with a killer's intent. Harry watches it for a moment while silently berating himself for jinxing himself. It is just his luck to have giant spiders coming his way with the intent of eating him.

Raising his wand, Harry yells out, " _DIFFINDO!_ "

He watches with mild satisfaction as the legs of the spider are, quite literally, ripped from its body by an unseeable force. The unholy screech the spider emits causes Harry to wince. It falls to the ground, alive, but unable to move. He only watches it wiggle for a moment before taking pity on the dark creature and ends its misery with a silent cutting hex.

Elder wand gripped firmly in his hand, Harry continues on. He's on guard. He scans the area every few minutes while keeping his ears peeled for any sort of noise. The cobwebs appear in abundance the deeper he goes into the forest. But still, he follows the river (even though his mind is telling him to retreat). As the rush of the water grows more vicious, Harry starts walking a little faster. Something isn't right. A sort of dread fills the pit of his stomach. The trees are thick now. Even with his improved eyesight, it was difficult to see through them.

Another screech, much like the one he heard a bit ago, pierces the air. Harry freezes before taking off running away from the river, heading towards the branches most thick with cobwebs. He can hear shouting, but could not understand the words.

He happens to find the source of shouting a moment later. In a clearing, surrounded by thick trees and ghastly cobwebs, are two people. And they are surrounded by more than 10 spiders. There is a blond one and a redhead. Both tall. Both dressed in dark green tunics and leggings, only the blond has on a sort of armor Harry would associate with nobility. Both have swords drawn; the blond with twin blades and the other with a single long, and oddly shaped, sword.

Without thinking, Harry casts _Expulso_ three times taking out the two spiders near the blond and the one near the redhead. They see him standing there, with his wand held up, but don't say anything. Some of the spiders notice him and head towards him in a rush. Harry decides to deal with them much as he did with the other creatures.

Pointing his wand at them, Harry yells, " _PROTEGO!_ ," followed by, "Get down!"

When the two don't drop immediately, he motions for them to drop to the ground. The two strangers share a look before hitting the ground and covering their heads. He feels a twinge in his arm, an icy-hotness sweeping across his shoulders and down it. Harry ignores it. Gathering his magic, Harry casts _Fiendfyre_ and watches, with odd satisfaction, as the spiders are consumed by the same fiery bird much like his enemies earlier. He barely sees the blond look up before dropping his head again as the fire swept over them, although not harming them. When the fire disperses, Harry leans heavily against the closest tree, not paying any mind to the bits of cobweb falling on his clothing and hair.

His arm hurts.

He thinks of his wound. An arrow barely nicked him, but it was most likely poisoned. Cursing his bad luck, he doesn't notice the two approaching him cautiously until they're just standing a few feet away from him. He focuses on the blond whose hair is casting over his shoulders neatly, pale blue eyes looking at him curiously. He's pretty. He slowly looks at the other. The red hair reminds him of the Weasleys. He closes his eyes briefly at the thought of his friends. But her green eyes stand out to him. Red hair and green eyes remind him of his mum. And when his eyes sweep over both of them, he takes in the pointed ears.

"Are you both okay?" he asks. The silence is getting to him and he gets the feeling that they shouldn't linger longer than necessary.

He doesn't expect to see a look of confusion shared between them. Do they not understand? The blond one says something slowly in a sort of flowery language, his voice is smooth. He is cautious and rightly so.

Harry shakes his head. "I don't understand what you're saying."

And again, they share the same confused looked.

"Can you not speak elvish?" the female asks, speaking slowly as if she were a child.

Harry tilts his head to the side before shaking it.

"And elf that cannot speak elvish?" the blond muses out loud. "How strange." There's a bit of hotness to his voice and Harry is instantly reminded of Malfoy. Scowling, he nods. At least this confirms that he's an elf. Gazing at both of them, he thinks of Dobby. His brave little friend who sacrificed himself to save them. Dobby would probably get a kick out of meeting elves so unlike him.

He makes to reply but stops short when a burst of pain flares at his shoulder where his wound is and he only manages a quiet hiss between clenched teeth.

"You're injured," the red-head says.

Harry would have made a sarcastic remark if his eyes didn't suddenly blur.

"I'll be fine in a moment," he mumbles. Then he pauses, debating what to do next but ultimately just slides down the base of the tree to sit completely. The grim from the tree sticks to him like glue but he can't bring himself to care. A sort of tiredness creeps up his body despite the burning sensation in his arm. It starts to feel heavy.

"Hardly," the blond replies before a pair of hands descend on him. He feels hands tug at his badly dressed injury until the knot gives way. Harry hears the slightest sharp intake of breath and then the two strangers begin speaking rapidly to each other in their language.

Harry tries to focus, but a heaviness is overtaking his body. He manages to hear "orc" before dropping his head against the tree. His vision is blurred. His muscles...weak. His arm is on fire.

"So much for peace," he whispers to himself, not caring if the other two hear.

"We will take you to a healer," he hears. It's said in a hurry.

Harry feels himself being moved, shifting into an upright position, and then he's on someone's back being piggybacked to wherever. His pack is taken from him but he can't put up much of a fight to stop whoever takes it.

"I hope we don't run into any more spiders," Harry whispers instead. "I really hate spiders."

"You're babbling," he hears from his left side. "A side effect of the poison. Your Highness, we must hurry."

 _Your Highness?_ Great, he is being piggybacked by some king or prince. How embarrassing.

Their speed picks up and Harry doesn't appreciate it. The fast running makes him feel sick. He can't even feel his arm now. He closes his eyes and breathes in the earthy smell of the blond carrying him. It's pleasant enough. He feels them slow down eventually, thanking whoever up there that they don't run into any more spiders.

He falls unconscious to the rush of flowery language—

—and wakes up to a soft voice speaking.

He doesn't understand a lick of it. When a hand comes upon his forehead, he shoots to a sitting position. He blinks rapidly, a hand coming up to rub at his eyes. He shakes off a hand that touches his shoulder gently.

"Peace, peace!" a voice cries.

Harry blinks once, twice, and does his hardest to focus on something, anything. He feels a thin sheet beneath his fingers. A bed, then. When a hand comes to his shoulder again, he shrugs it off.

"D-don't touch me," Harry says, throat dry. He grips the sheet.

He still can't focus on anything.

"Why c-can't I see?" he manages to get out.

"Be calm," the voice says much more gently. "It is a side effect of poison. Your sight will return to you soon enough."

Despite this, Harry rubs at his eyes again and blinks.

"Drink this," a cold glass is pressed into his hand.

"What is it?" he asks.

"Water. We would not save you from poison only to kill you."

"Wouldn't be the first time," Harry mumbles before taking a sip. The cooling freshness of water soothes his throat and he downs the whole thing. There's no reply to his comment. "What about my arm?" Harry asks as he holds out the glass to be taken back. He feels a hand press ever so slightly against his wound and grunts. Well, at least he can feel his arm again.

"It will be tender for a few more days. It only required a few stitches."

"Well, that's good."

There is silence and then: "From where do you hail?"

Harry snorts and flops back down on the bed. He doesn't answer right away because he doesn't know where to start. How do you explain to a stranger that you aren't from their world? How do you explain to strangers that a strange voice in your dream had the ability to send you to different worlds? They'd quicker call him crazy before he'd even finish his tale. Probably. Besides, he didn't really want to talk about it right now.

He settles for, "It doesn't matter anymore."

"Why do you say that?"

"I can't go back so it doesn't matter."

It's a clear sign to drop the topic and Harry silently thanks whoever is with him for not replying. He came to a new place to create a new life for himself, not wallow in self-pity and guilt. It becomes so quiet that Harry assumes that the person has left until a pair of hands gently touch the area around his wound, just barely tugging on the bandages.

"I have to change these," the voice cautions. "It will feel sore but your wound is ridding itself of the poison."

Draining. He means draining.

Feeling his face twist in disgust, he merely grunts, "Disgusting."

"Quite," and those hands, deft in their movement, set about to cleanse his wound and replace his soiled bandages.

And he was right. The pressure of a cloth wiping away at his injury does increase the soreness. Harry closes his eyes and stifles a groan when the cloth is removed and fresh wrappings replace the old ones. Throughout this transition, the hands remain as gentle as possible and for that, Harry really appreciates it. It's different than staying in the infirmary under the care of Madam Pomfery who, Harry sometimes suspects, gets the occasional kick out of students who suffer from minor injuries.

When his arm is released, Harry lets out a sigh. He slowly opens his eyes again, blinks twice, and sighs in relief. His vision is returning to normal. He waits a few more seconds and closes his eyes again.

"Are you hungry?"

"I don't think I'll manage more than something light - like bread - if you have any."

"I will see what I can round up. Don't leave your bed," he hears someone walking away and a door opening. "I will be back momentarily."

The second the door closes, Harry opens his eyes again. His vision has fully returned. With his good arm, Harry brings himself to a sitting position and looks around. It's not the infirmary like at Hogwarts, but it gives off the same feel. There are five other beds in the room aside from the one he is in. Upon gazing at the walls long enough, he concluded that he's either in a very large tree or whoever owns the place really likes going with the forest theme. The walls look like tree bark. There are lights around the room in small glass balls attached to the wall, their glow not too harsh. The color scheme, he likes. Cream, light brown, and green. It's inviting.

He looks at the large double doors to the right of him, several feet again, and admires the elegant design carved into it. It reminds him of the fairy doors in the books Hermione sometimes brought to Hogwarts to show Ron how muggle's perceived some magical creatures.

 _Hermione..._

 _Ron..._

He really missed his best friends. He really missed Sirius and Remus.

Loyal friends. Order members.

All soldiers in the travesty called war.

Harry's time to mourn over the loss of his family is cut short when the door to the room he's in - infirmary? healing ward? - opens and two people, elves, walk in. One is holding a tray of assorted fruits and bread while the other is carrying a change of clothes.

"Can you see us clearly?" the one with the tray asks.

Harry recognizes the voice and nods.

"That is good. I can now properly introduce myself," he places the tray on the small table beside Harry's bed. "My name is Galtara. This is my apprentice, Luthrin." The other elf greets him with a dip of his head and places the clean clothes at the end of the bed and stands back.

"Pleased to meet you both," Harry replies. "Can one of you tell me where I am?"

Galtara bends down and folds the sheets back. Harry stares at them. They are folded _perfectly_.

"You are in the House of Healing of Mirkwood."

Harry blinks at him. "And...that's in... _Endor_? Right?"

And much like the two he met before passing out, Galtara and Luthrin share a confused look.

"We were told you only speak the common tongue," Galtara replies. "That is very strange. But yes, Mirkwood is in _Endor_."

"I don't know what you mean by 'common tongue' but I'm speaking as I normally do."

Luthrin says something while directly facing Harry, all three wait, and when Harry doesn't reply, Luthrin says something to Galtara. It sounds playful. Harry gets the impression that he is being teased and huffs.

"What did you say?" Harry asked as the tray of food is removed from the bedside table and placed in his lap where he's advised to eat slowly.

"I merely informed Galtara that he will have his work cut out for him."

Harry's mouth twitches upwards, just slightly, and picks up a unique looking berry. He rolls it around between his thumb and pointer finger before popping it into his mouth. It tasted nice, but not something he'd eat often. Instead, he moves on to the bread. Even from the tray, it smells heavenly and it's warm to the touch. Fresh bread is always nice.

He takes a bite and sighs in content. It's honey flavored and slightly flaky and absolutely delicious.

"This is probably the best thing I've ever eaten," Harry says after he swallows.

Galtara and Luthrin share an amused look. Harry leans over his tray a bit and a lock of his hair falls over his shoulder. Harry pauses in his eating to look at it hard. It's filthy. He looks down at the white sheets, then back to his hair.

With a sigh, he shoves the tray away. "I can't eat this."

"Is it not to your liking?" Galtara asks while frowning. "It is fresh."

Harry shakes his head. "It's fine, but I hate being dirty. It distracts me from eating."

A chuckle escapes Luthrin's mouth. He says something to Galtara who grins in response.

Harry huffs. "What did you say?"

Luthrin grins at Harry. "I said you remind me of the prince. He, too, hates to eat while dirty."

Harry's eyes widen. "The prince?! That woman mentioned said something like 'Your Highness' or whatever while I was being brought...here. Are they okay?!"

Galtara frowns at Luthrin. "Woman?"

"I believe he means Tauriel," Luthrin replies before turning to Harry. "Tauriel is no woman. She is an elven warrior and the captain of the royal guard. She and Prince Legolas are fine. They shared a rather interesting tale regarding you."

Harry sags in relief. "That's good. There were giant spiders. I hate spiders."

"The king will want to speak to you as soon as you are taken care of."

Harry sags even further, clearly nervous. "I've never met a king before."

Galtara smiles kindly. "The king is grateful to you for saving the prince's life as well as a prized captain of the guard. We all are."

"I would have done it for anyone," Harry replies quietly.

Galtara shares a concerned look with Luthrin before lifting the tray from the bed and placing it back on the small table beside it. "Since you will not eat at the moment, we will help you clean up. There is a hot spring attached to the room."

Harry throws back the rest of the sheet covering him and places his bare feet on the floor. It's slightly warm, to his surprise, and rather soft. He slowly stands but sways just a bit. He allows himself to be led through a door he didn't originally notice on the other side of the room. When the door is opened, hot moisture smacks his face. The hot spring looks inviting. There are jars and bottles of various shapes and sizes sitting on a flat stone right next to the steaming pool of hot water.

The heat is calling to Harry.

"Because of your wound, I will help you undress. Luthrin will help you with your hair."

Under different circumstances, Harry would have been very uncomfortable about stripping in front of two strangers, but something in his gut told him he'd be okay and that they wouldn't cause him any harm.

He nods. After that, Galtara's deft fingers undo the binds on his tunic and peel it away. His leggings soon follow. Harry doesn't know where his boots are but he hopes he'll get them back. Naked, Harry keeps his eyes forward lest he starts blushing. He frowns at the grittiness of his hair scraping his back. He couldn't wait for it to be clean.

"Mind your shoulder," Galtara warns as Harry steps into the pool and sinks down. The hot water laps at his skin, the feeling amazing. They let him soak for several minutes until the hair around his face curls even more and sticks around his temple. With a huff, he flicks it out of the way only for it to fall back in place.

"Let us begin," Luthrin says. "Tilt your head back."

Water is dunked on his head, but not a single drop slides down his face. Not even a drop of sweat from the heat rolls down his face as far as he can tell. When his hair is thoroughly wet, the scent of something berry-like fills the air. Luthrin sets about cleaning his hair with practiced ease. And it feels so nice to Harry that he sinks just a little more under the water, a sigh of content escaping his mouth. Fingernails scrape along his head and shudders.

"Your hair is very thick and long. I will need to do this in parts."

Harry feels his hair be split into sections. As soon as hair is thrown over his uninjured shoulder, careful of his wound, he hears two gasps.

" _By Valar..._ "

* * *

If you have the time, please review.

~i-just-really-love-sakura

 **Edited (09/27/2018):** I hope this reads so much better now!


	4. Chapter 4

This chapter is dedicated to **meme1012** , **comodo50** , and **Gracie15Trowa** , whose reviews made me laugh.

* * *

 **Chapter Three**

 _"Go back?" he thought. "No good at all! Go sideways? Impossible! Go forward? Only thing to do! On we go!" - The Hobbit_

Harry freezes when a cold finger traces over something just below his right shoulder.

"Can it be?" Luthrin breathes.

"What is it?" Harry asks while turning his head. "What's wrong?"

He doesn't get an answer right way for it seemed that the two elves behind him have become enchanted by whatever it is on his back. They keep tracing over it slowly with their cold fingers while muttering to each other (or themselves, he can't tell which) in their flowery language. It's annoying, to be honest, and Harry can feel the irritation build up. This interaction remembers him of the hounding from The Daily Prophet reporters.

"This mark," Luthrin begins slowly as if sensing Harry's irritation, "is one of great importance. You have been blessed by Elbereth Gilthoniel, Lady of the Light." The awe can be heard clearly in his voice. Harry recalls the female voice that spoke to him in his dreams, the one who sent him to where he is now.

"She is beloved by all our kin. Such a mark is a high honor," Galtara whispers from behind him. "Something like this hasn't occurred in several millennia."

"She didn't tell me she'd leave some mark on my body," Harry mumbles. He wants to sink lower into the hot spring, but his injured shoulder wouldn't allow it.

"You have met her?" Luthrin asks. "How?" He finally starts cleaning a section of Harry's hair. Harry makes a disgusted face when the water around his body turns murky brown, occasional twigs or small leaves appearing, and clumps of cobwebs find their way into the water.

As steadfast and long fingers work a sort of shampoo into his hair, Harry replies, "She's the reason I'm here. She came to me in a dream. The story is long and complicated and...I really don't want to talk about it right now."

They must have heard something in his voice because the room falls silent save for the occasional lapping of water and the washing of hair. Harry sits in the hot spring, mind wandering to the two he met before passing out after dealing with the spiders; Tauriel and Prince Legolas. Tauriel's red hair reminded him of the Weasleys, but specifically, her aura reminded him of Ginny (of his mum). Strong, fierce, and capable. Prince Legolas is different. There's something about him that puts Harry off. Not necessarily in a bad way, but Harry makes a mental note to be on his guard around the royal elf for the time being.

And he was also piggybacked by the prince. A truly mortifying event. He's broken out of his train of thought when water is dumped over his head. Luckily, his eyes were closed. Soap in the eye would be really unfortunate.

"I don't understand," he hears. "The lotion should have made your hair flat and smooth."

At this, laughter bubbles up from Harry's throat. His hair has always been a mess, never tamed.

"It's a lost cause," he laughs. "I've never been able to get it to lay flat. A rather unfortunate thing I got from my dad."

That seemed to flip a switch because he is then asked about his parents by Galtara. Harry looks at the water, the murkiness is fading, the leaves and twigs and cobwebs long are gone, and thinks. Should he talk about his parents? Should he ignore the question?

Well, honesty is the best policy.

"I only know what I've been told. Or what I read in books. I didn't know him. Him and my mum. They died when I was an infant."

"How did they..." Luthrin starts but trails off.

Harry closes his eyes briefly. "Murder." It's a blunt, but simple answer.

"My apologies."

Harry only shrugs. "It's fine."

Galtara, who had remained quiet for most of the conversation since entering the hot spring, asked, "Do you want to soak some more or would you like to get dressed."

It's a swift subject change, one that Harry appreciates seeing as he can practically feel the waves of guilt rolling off Luthrin, and just sighs. "If I could, I'd never leave."

"We can leave you for a bit so that you may relax," Luthrin replies quickly while tying up Harry's hair so it doesn't touch the water. Harry knows it will only curl his hair more and, in this damp heat, it will remain wet.

"What about meeting the king?" Harry inquires as he tilts his head back to look at them upside down. He wouldn't want to purposely keep a king waiting.

"King Thranduil will understand," Galtara says. "Relax. We will return in half an hour."

When he's alone, Harry shifts. His head feels just a little heavy from the aroma of sweetness and heat, but still, this is the nicest way to bathe. His mind wanders to the two individuals who've helped him since he woke up. Galtara - a name he has fun saying mentally - is very professional in his movement. His aura reminds Harry of Madam Pomfrey, caring enough but also reserved. Luthrin is similar in that case, but he seems younger than Galtara. But really, all the elves he's come in contact with so far look very youth.

Sighing, Harry starts swirling the water in front of him. He really misses Ron and Hermione. A place like this, with a hot spring, would be enjoyed by all of them. Probably. Ron would mostly chock on air and go red-faced at the idea of sharing the hot pool with him and Hermione. Hermione, practical Hermione, wouldn't mind one bit. She'd tease Ron, of course, and Harry would join in and they'd have a good time.

Laughing, Harry splashes the water. Hermione would want to know about this race of elves, so unlike the house elves in the Wizarding World. Dobby, loyal and caring, would have enjoyed meeting these elves.

"Are you guys watching me?" Harry asks out loud. And then, more quietly, "Can you forgive me for my selfish choice?"

He misses his friends dearly, all of them, but he can't constantly dwell on what could have been, what should have been. He hopes Ginny is getting the help she deserves. He hopes the twins are even more successful with the shop. He hopes Molly and Arthur are doing well given the circumstances. He hopes the Grangers will be able to move on pass Hermione's death. She is a hero.

Harry's mind wanders to Neville and Luna. He thinks of Luna and her encouraging smile and kind eyes. He thinks of Neville and how he has come into himself, brave and heroic. Shaking his head, Harry mumbles, "I made my choice. I'll live with it." It's not like he's completely cut off from his old life. Andromeda has the mirror. He has the other. He can still be a part of Teddy's life, even if he's another world away. Things will fall into place. He can only hope so.

Harry starts humming a tune, something old that he can vaguely recall. Probably overheard from Mrs. Weasley. For several more minutes, he just sits there humming. The tune changes every so often, his mind unable to decide which one to stick too.

"That sounds very sad," Luthrin calls from behind. Harry doesn't jump, he swears, but he does turn his head slightly to acknowledge the elf.

"Half an hour has gone by already?" Harry asks more so himself than Luthrin.

"Time is often lost to wandering minds," Galtara says. Harry hears the barest hint of footsteps before sighing and slowly rises from the hot water.

A large, smooth blanket of some sort is wrapped around him immediately. A pair of swift hands, Luthrin, undo the ties that kept his mess of hair up and Harry feels heaviness fade away as it falls down his back. He is walked out the room, but not before casting one last look at the hot spring. He hopes to return soon. He doesn't put up a fight when the two elves help his dress. He even lets Luthrin brush his hair.

"It's unique," Luthrin starts off as he works a brush into Harry's hair. "I've never seen hair like this before."

"As I said, I got it from my dad. His hair was always messy, from what I've been told, and the pictures I've seen prove it."

"Pictures?" Luthrin asks while Galtara places a boot on Harry's left foot. It's knee high with the laces going all the way up. He wants his other boots back but makes no comment.

"Where I'm from, we have these things called 'pictures.' They're like mini portraits that you can keep, carry around with you, hang on walls, or place in a book for safe keeping. You can have multiple copies of just one picture or have the only copy. They're keepsakes. Memories. They're wonderful."

And Harry doesn't have a single picture.

"Interesting," Luthrin replies. "Your...previous _home_ is so unlike ours, from my understanding."

"You have no idea."

Luthrin returns the conversation back to Harry's hair. "It's thick, wavy, an utter mess, but so uniquely you. From what we know, it suits you. Your personality, I mean."

Harry hums. "I haven't been told that before. But I guess I can see that. It's reckless like myself."

Galtara coughs under his breath, but Harry's sure he's meant to hear it. "Let us hope that you do not return to this room anytime soon. I prefer my patients to be out and about for several years to centuries before returning."

Luthrin huffs a laugh, his breath ruffling Harry's hair. He says something playfully in elvish, if Harry can recall, only for Galtara to snap a reply. Though, Harry notices, his eyes gleam playfully. When both boots are situated on his feet and Luthrin lowers his brush a final time, Harry takes a minute to breathe. He's going to meet a king soon. There must be panic on his face because Galtara is, once again, kneeling before him. His hands do up the buttons on the tunic his is wearing.

"Relax, _gwinig_.* There is no need to panic. Tonight is a night for celebration. You saved Prince Legolas and a prized captain of the guard."

"I don't know how to act in front of a king," Harry says quietly.

He can feel the tips of Luthrin's fingers massage the base of his skull. It'd be a lot nicer if he weren't close to losing control of his heartbeat. He's sure they can hear it.

"Surely you are capable of being respectful?" Galtara inquires as he pulls away and stands up.

"Respectful, yes? But that doesn't mean I won't make a fool of myself in any other way. I don't know proper dining manners in this world, how to engage in conversation, and stuff." Harry bows his head. "I can't even speak elvish."

"Depending on your plans after tonight, we may be able to teach you."

Before Harry can reply, there's a knock on the door of the Healing Room. Galtara answers it and in steps Tauriel, clean and in fresh clothes.

"I've been sent to retrieve our guest," she says. Her eyes stray to Harry, flicking over his appearance, and nods. Harry is somewhat happy to see the approval in her eyes. He can imagine what he looked like earlier, with dirty hair and a nasty injury, and sees this as a sort of luck on his side.

"He is ready," Luthrin says from behind.

And then Harry is left alone on the bed. Three sets of eyes gaze at him expectantly. With an unhappy groan, he gets to his feet.

"It's now or never," he mumbles followed by a quick 'thanks' to his helpers. As he walks behind Tauriel, he pauses to look at Galtara. "Several years to centuries, huh? Well, I make no promises. I might be back in here soon."

Eyes narrowed, Galtara replies, "And why would that be?"

"I might faint," he deadpans and then is out the door to follow Tauriel who is patiently waiting for him.

("I have a feeling life here will become much more interesting," Luthrin speaks up as he comes to stand next to his friend. He speaks common tongue simply because he chooses too. Galtara nods. They don't even know this elf's name, but his gut is telling him that he is not an enemy. He can only hope that his gut doesn't lead him astray.)

 _Let him be a gift from above,_

 _Let him grace us with happiness._

 _A star whose light shines bright,_

 _A true beauty among all others. [1]_

Harry knows Tauriel can sense his nervousness. Hell, all the elves they pass can sense it. It's rolling off him in waves but meeting a king is a _big_ deal. Harry never thought he'd meet an actual king. The prince, who piggybacked him (he can't get over that), probably doesn't want him to stick around. There's just something off about him.

As they walk along, Harry lets his gaze roam the area. Everything is made of golden wood, from the hallways to the pathways to windows and balconies to the pillars and more. There are intricate carvings in the wood, all beautiful and charming. It's spacious and he can see other elves walking along different paths above and below him. Someone gaze at him curiously and others don't even glance his way.

Then they are walking up a set of stairs, white rose vines wrapped around the handles. When they get to the top, Harry all but freezes before a large throne with antlers above it and the elegant elf sitting in it. King Thranduil sits gracefully on the throne, silver robes draped around his person, red high pointed crown seated upon his head of silver blonde hair. He is beautiful. Really beautiful. A sort of cold beauty Harry once associated with the Malfoys. He stares at Harry with pale blue eyes.

Tauriel bows and greets the king with "I have done as you asked, my lord," and takes a step back. Harry quickly bows as well.

"So this is the elf that saved you and my son?" King Thranduil starts, his voice in an emotionless draw.

Harry immediately recognizes this tactic. One of a person who doesn't want to appear weak in front of others (but he can see the relief in King Thranduil's eyes). Instead of allowing Tauriel to reply, Harry steps forward. "Yes, Your Majesty."

Raising an eyebrow, King Thranduil leans back with assumed ease. "And what would you like in return?"

Harry's eyebrows furled in confusion. "In return? Why would I want something in return?"

"You saved my sons' life as well as one of my captains. I merely inquire as to what you want in return for your heroics."

Frowning, Harry shakes his head slowly. "Do you not believe actions can be done out of the kindness of one's heart?" And there he sees a crack in the king's blank expression. Actual surprise in what he said, as if no one would ever say something like that to him.

"I do, but it rarely happens," the king replies slowly. "You do not want anything?"

Harry shakes his head. "No, Your Majesty."

King Thranduil tilts his head, long head falling over his shoulder gracefully, and studies him for a moment. "What is your name?"

Harry sighs and looks at the ground. He could answer with 'Harry' but this is his new life, his new home (not necessarily Mirkwood, unless he got his way). He gets to start over.

 _A new life means a new name, right?_

"I have no name." At this, the eyebrows of the king shoot up in full surprise. During this, he looks at the ground. It's a small lie, but one he figures it won't matter in the long run.

"A nameless elf?" King Thranduil says. "And one that cannot speak elvish? This is truly unique."

"So I've been told," Harry mumbles before quickly looking up. "Sorry."

King Thranduil's lips twitch into an _almost_ smile. Harry shrugs somewhat gracefully. He wants a new name and he can't speak elvish. It sounds strange, even to his own ears, considering the day.

"Well then, that simply won't do. You will need a name. I grow tired of calling you 'the elf' in every conversation."

Harry smiles a little bit. "Well, if you wish, you may give me a name." To be honest, it would be really neat if a king (An _actual_ king!) could give him a new name.

The king studies his face, eyes roaming for a moment before nodding. "Hathier," he states.

Harry tilts his head. "What does it mean?"

"Hero from a distant land."

He could cry upon hearing that. It's just so fitting for him. And it's almost funny when he thinks about. Hathier's heroic actions would follow him for the rest of his existence with this name. Instead of voicing that, he bows deeply. "Thank you."

King Thranduil nods. "Now, what do you plan to do after tonight?"

Hathier's shoulders drop a little. What _does_ he plan to do after tonight? He hadn't thought about it much sense waking up. Would he be allowed to stay if he asked? Would he be sent off after tonight? He likes Galtara and Luthrin and the offer to be taught elvish still rings clear in his ears. Plus, there's a hot spring!

"I haven't...really thought about it. I don't know my way around Endor. I wouldn't know where to go or what to do." Then, with his head held high, "But I'm sure I'll figure it out along the way."

"You may stay here if you wish. Someone can teach you elvish and you would be given a proper room."

Abrupt. Clear.

"Will it have a hot spring?" Hathier blurts out before blushing. "Sorry."

And like that, the tension drains from the king's shoulders and he laughs. It's almost as if time stopped. Hathier notices the elves around them - high and low on the walkways - are completely frozen while looking at the king in bewilderment. And then some smile in their direction. It seems that the king hasn't laughed like he is now in a long time. Hathier feels giddy.

"You are the most interesting elf I've ever met," the king says after calming down. Then, in a more subdued voice, "I haven't laughed like that in quite some time."

Hathier smiles a little but says nothing.

"Tauriel will escort you to an available room in the right wing." The king looks at him again. "There will be a feast tonight, in your honor, for saving those I care about. For the time being, feel free to roam the corridors as you please after becoming situated in your room."

Hathier bows deeply. "Thank you," he replies softly. Genuinely. He gets a nod in return before Tauriel steps forward and gently takes his arm. As he's being led away, he can feel several pairs of eyes on him. He does his best to ignore them.

"Thank you," Tauriel says after a moment of silence.

"For what?" Hathier inquires.

"For making the king laugh. I," she pauses and shakes her head, red hair flying just a bit. "I mean, we; as in his people, haven't heard him laugh like that in a few millennia. Not after the death of Queen Elerrian."

Hathier's heart feels heavy upon hearing that. The death of a loved one must have caused a change to a kingdom he believed was once full of light. Although Mirkwood is beautiful in its own right, he can sense a darkness outside the safe walls. He doesn't voice this to Tauriel, however. Instead, he says, "My condolences, my lady. But I am also glad I was able to make him laugh after such a long time."

Tauriel offers a kind smile. "You are very interesting." Her voice grows softer. "You've been here hardly a day and your presence already makes the air more breathable. I am grateful."

Hathier doesn't know what to say to that and Tauriel takes no offense when he doesn't reply.

They reach the room in record time in Hathier's opinion and when Tauriel opens the door, Hathier can only gasp quietly. The room is splendidly done in soft greens and ivory. There's a large, four-poster bed in the center of the room with the hanging drapes pulled back to reveal ivory sheets and two large, fluffy pillows. There's a vanity across the bed made of golden wood. The mirror sparkles as through recently cleaned. There's a dresser next to it made of the same wood. Next to the bed, on the other side of the room, are double glass doors that lead to a balcony. Around the ceiling are white and red roses and the same beautiful carvings he saw on the walls outside. There is another door on the other side of the room. He hopes there's a hot spring behind it.

He hears a laugh next to him and realizes he said that out loud. Instead of blushing this time, Hathier steps into the room. _His_ room. It's fit for royalty and it's utterly gorgeous. "Do you require anything at the present time?" Tauriel asks.

Hathier shakes his head while walking to the bed and takes a tentative seat on it. It's as soft as it looks.

"Then I will leave you be for the time being. Myself or someone else will arrive later to escort you to the feast. Should you explore, someone will find you."

"Thank you, really."

She dips her head and backs out of the room, closing the door gently behind her. The moment she's gone, Hathier flops onto his back and stares at the top of the bed where the drapes of his bed connect. He feels a bit overwhelmed, to be honest, but he gets to stay for the time being. He considers himself lucky. Tauriel says his 'presence' makes the air more 'breathable.' The king has a sadness about him that Hathier recognizes, that he is extremely familiar with.

He spends several painstaking minutes untying his boots. Closing his eyes, Hathier scoots up against his bed and rolls to his side. He feels tired despite only being awake for probably an hour or two. The nerves he felt about meeting the king have all disappeared. The king has welcomed him in his home, he'll be learning elvish, and he will find his place here.

With that, he falls asleep.

 _Jolly, jolly, little one!_

 _Jolly, jolly, let's have some fun!_

 _The sun is shining,_

 _The wind is singing,_

 _The sky so blue!_

 _Jolly, jolly, little one!_

 _Jolly, jolly, let's have some fun! [2]_

When Hathier opens his eyes, he smiles. The white forest has become a sort of comfort since the first time appearing in it. He sits up from his place on the ground and waits for the voice, Varda, to speak.

 _Welcome, child. How do you fair?_

"Better than I did when I arrived," Hathier replies. He's only slightly put off by being attacked a mere half hour after arriving in Endor.

 _My apologies, child. I did not wish for you to face conflict so suddenly._

Hathier shrugs. He's alive and well. There are no grudges here. "I've been brought to a place, Mirkwood, by two elves whose lives I saved."

 _I am aware. Mirkwood, once known as Greenwood, now resides in darkness, but I have little fear for you. Despite the darkness, you will fair very well within the walls._

"And outside the walls?"

 _What happens outside the walls is your choice. I placed you in an area and let you choose your path. However, I did not wish to place you in harm's way. For that, I am sorry._

"It's alright. I'm okay now." Moving along, he says, "I have a new name now."

 _Hathier. 'Tis a good name._

Hathier smiles a little. "It's a bit ironic, given my history."

 _Then it suits you, child._

"Will I have to tell them about my past?" It had just acquired to himself that she must be able to see the future considering the things she has said in previous meetings.

 _That is for you to decide. Your future is directed by your choices. I set about many paths for you but you ultimately choose for yourself. You have free will._

"And if I choose to not partake in the wars in the future?"

She is silent for a moment before replying _, That will be unavoidable. War will spread like a disease across Endor, slipping into every crack. You must be ready._

Hathier sighs.

 _Do not despair, child. You will not be alone._

"Can you promise me that?"

 _Yes._

Hathier nods. "Thank you."

And the world fades to black as a soft melody fills his ears.

 _A hero you are,_

 _Now and forever._

 _The lightness you bring,_

 _With my guiding hand,_

 _Will ensure your happiness,_

 _And that of the land. [3]_

Hathier returns to the land of the living. He groans before rolling onto his back. Opening his eyes, he stares up and can barely make out the cream color of the drapes. It is dark outside. The day passing quickly or maybe he didn't realize how late into the day it really is.

Sighing, he shifts to the edge of his bed and sits up. The main source of light comes from the balcony. Getting to his feet, he walks over to it and opens one of the glass doors slowly as to not break it but is surprised by how sturdy it is. That's when Hathier realizes his stuff is still missing. Hoping against hope that none of his things were messed with, he steps out onto the balcony and looks down.

He's _really_ high up is the first thing he notices. Second are the flowers wrapped around pillars and handles and railings, woven into doorways and along pathways. It only makes the sight much more enchanting.

"It's a wonderful view, isn't it?" A voice calls from behind.

Hathier will forever deny that he jumped. Turning around, he is greeted by the prince whose mouth forms a grin. There's a playful glint in his eyes.

"I know you're a prince, but even you should know not to enter someone's room without permission."

Prince Legolas cocks an eyebrow and, in that moment, he looks very much like his father. "I did knock, but you did not answer. You make for a very bad elf," he teases.

Hathier scowls. "An elf this, an elf that. I just need to get the hang of this."

The prince offers him a charming smile. "I've been sent to retrieve you."

Hathier nods slowly. "Okay."

Together, they re-enter the room. Prince Legolas waits patiently by the door as Hathier struggles to lace up his boots. When he hears a snicker a few feet away from him, he rolls his eyes and huffs. He would not give the elven prince the satisfaction of asking for help. It takes him a few minutes, but he has both of them on and laced up pretty well.

"Carry on," Hathier says while waving a hand at the door. The prince grins as he opens the door and allows Hathier to walk out first.

* * *

[1, 2, & 3] I wrote the lyrics.

If you have the time, please review.

~i-just-really-love-sakura

 **Edited (09/29/2018):** I'm much more satisfied with this chapter.

P.S. The elves sleep. Why? Because I say so.


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter Four - Part 1**

 _If his surroundings could have reflected the feelings inside him, the pictures would have been screaming in pain. - Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix_

Prince Legolas leads him through what he claims to be a shortcut, but Hathier gets the feeling the prince merely wants him confused because the path seems far longer than it should be. Mirkwood, he notices, isn't like any other kingdom he's heard of. There are no real walls within it - except for the rooms - to separate pathways seeing as he can see elves above and below him and across the way on other pathways. The kingdom is almost like a maze, but one much more appreciated than the one he was forced into because of a dangerous tournament a few years ago.

Still, it's beautiful. Hathier can see a variety of flowers entwined with rails and pillars and along the pathways, the bright colors stand out among the golden wood used to build everything. And once again, he is the center of attention. Several elves stop what they're doing to stare at them. Him, really. Some smile politely, others appear curious. Either way, their auras are pleasant enough.

"What do you think of this place?" Prince Legolas interjects into Hathier's thoughts.

"It's...stunning," Hathier replies while he looks at the symbols carved into the wooden pillars they walk by, the flowers make them stick out. "I've never seen a place like this before. It seems well-loved." He finally looks at the prince.

Prince Legolas beams with pride. "It is the pride of my grandfather passed on to my father and, perhaps, myself one day."

"It must have taken a long time to build," Hathier says as they come upon a large set of stairs.

"My grandfather founded this place, built it with his followers, and ruled until his death. It was once called Greenwood the Great but in the previous millennia, it's known as Mirkwood."

"Why was the name changed?" Hathier inquiries as they ascend the steps slowly.

The prince hesitates before replying. "There is darkness in the woods surrounding the kingdom that brings forth great fear. You saw this with the spiders."

Hathier nods. "It's rather sad," he replies. "When you take away the darkness, the spiders, and their nasty webs, I'm sure you can see the beauty of the forest."

They carry on down the pathway towards a large doorway. With his improved vision, Hathier can see a large rectangular table filled to the brim with all sorts of food and drink and several elves gathered at the table, the king sitting at the head with Tauriel at his right along with Galtara and Luthrin and two free spaces to his left. Hathier knows they are meant from himself and the prince. He looks to Prince Legolas, but only sees a strange look on his face.

"Is something the matter, Your Highness?" he asks.

"You are the most peculiar elf I've ever met."

Hathier cocks his head to the side. "What do you mean?"

"No elf, or any member of any other race, would even attempt to see past the evil for what the forest once was."

"Well, maybe they should move beyond appearance."

The prince only gives him a small smile in response. Placing a hand on the low of Hathier's back, he leads his honored guest to his seat. Hathier follows the prince and bows to the king before taking his seat. He shoots a smile at Galtara and Luthrin, receiving similar smiles in return, and waits for the king to either start eating or give a speech or do whatever it is that king's do before a big feast. As if hearing his thoughts, King Thranduil stands from his seat at the head of the table. The noise in the hall falls silent as all the elves, Hathier notices, regard their king with absolute respect.

"Good evening," his smooth voice carries easily. "It is both an honor and a privilege to introduce you to the elf that saved the lives of your crowned prince and a high captain, Hathier. He is a guest under my protection during his stay. Treat him with the utmost respect." Finished, he takes a seat and grabs the large golden goblet in front of him and raises it. "To Hathier."

All the other elves follow suit. "To Hathier," rings throughout the hall. Not one to take attention all that well, Hathier ducks his head as a deep flush graces his tanned cheekbones.

There's a moment of silence before noise picks up in the hall. Elves of all heights and variations sat among the large table, talking in groups of two or more, often drawing in other elves from across the table. A light tune of music, from a harp, played by a she-elf at the end of the table, only makes the atmosphere much more inviting.

Hathier glances down at his plate. It is packed full of fruit, some he recognizes and others he doesn't, along with the flaky buttery bread he tasted earlier in the day. There is an assortment of meat on different sized plates just above his plate, the smell is mouth-watering.

"May I pour you a glass, my lord?"

Hathier internally praises himself for not jumping at the voice. The title, however, makes him a little uncomfortable. He looks up and sees a handsome male elf with long dark red hair and pale green carrying a pitcher of something. "What is it?" he asks.

"Wine, my lord," the elf replies while dipping his head in respect.

Hathier hums. "I'd much rather drink water if you don't mind."

The elf blinks, seemly surprised by the request, before bowing. "Of course. Allow me a moment."

"Thank you," he calls after the elf.

Feeling eyes on him, he looks around to see elves looking his way. Galtara and Luthrin were sending him encouraging smiles, Tauriel's face is closed off (Hathier wonders if he did something to offend her), the king merely raises an eyebrow in his direction, and he can barely feel the shift from the prince sitting next to him.

"Do you not like wine?" the kings draw pulls Hathier's attention towards him. "If you'd rather have ale or rum, I will have it obtained for you."

"Oh, well, I'm not one for drinking," and then hurries out, "Not that there's anything wrong with your wine! I'm sure it's wonderful, but I don't - uh - have the...taste for it right now." It's a lame way of ending himself, but Hathier doesn't know what else to say. But he feels relief seep into him when he catches the amusement in the king's eyes.

"Your water, my lord," the same elf from before arrives with a pitcher of ice cold water and pours a heaping glassful for Hathier.

"Thank you."

The elf simply bows his head and wonders off to care for the others along the table. Hathier has to fight really hard to not moan in sheer relief when the cold water slides down his throat. He didn't think water could ever taste this good. When he lowers his cup, he finds that many of the elves are still looking his way and sighs.

"You have questions," he states simply.

"Can you fault us for our curiosity?" It's Prince Legolas who says this.

"Of course not, but staring at me in hopes that I'll just start speaking about myself isn't the best way to gain answers."

"If we were to ask, would you privy us the answers?" King Thranduil asks.

Hathier lowers his gaze to his plate, he hasn't touched it yet. And, for some reason, he doesn't feel much to hungry. "Will you allow me the right to deny you answers if I deem them too personal?" Answering a question with a question isn't normally his thing, but he needs to know if these elves will push him. The surrounding elves wait silently as their king stares at the new elf with a calculating gaze.

"Of course," he answers finally. "Should we push too far, I will see to it that no one bothers you about it."

Hathier nods slowly. He takes another sip of his water before placing the goblet on the table and waits.

"Where are you from?" It is Galtara who starts. "You bypassed the answer earlier. If you do not wish to answer, I understand."

Hathier shoulders slump. Might as well gets some of it out into the open now and not later. "Let me start by saying that I was once a wizard." When no one interjects, he continues. "I am new to _Endor_ , which is the only word I know in elvish apparently, which is why I asked if Greenwood - forgive me, I mean Mirkwood - was in _Endor_. The place I came from is called Britain - there's a longer name, but I won't even bother mentioning it - and it houses a variety of communities. One of the communities contains wizards and witches of all ages and genders and magic types."

"A community of wizards?" Prince Legolas says. "How many are there?"

"And witches. There are thousands," Hathier answers. "Millions. Billions, probably. I can't give you an exact number, but there are a lot. There are seven land masses - Britain is located on one of them - called continents, and each of them has millions to billions of people, all races, on them."

The prince breathes out in surprise. "So many," he mumbles.

"How many do you have here?" He assumes, by the reactions around him, that hearing that of such a large community of wizards and witches is a shock.

"Five," the king answers simply.

Hathier blinks. "Only five?"

"The race of men and elves out populate all other races of _Endor_ ," Tauriel answers softly, but her eyes are wide with awe. "The mere idea that there are so many from where you're from..." she trails off as though not knowing how to finish her sentence.

"How did you transform from wizard to elf?" King Thranduil inquiries. "I have lived a long time, but I've never heard of such a thing."

Hathier briefly looks at Galtara and Luthrin and finds that both have become interested in their food. He sighs internally. This dinner will probably not peacefully as he thought. " _Elbereth Gilthoniel_ granted me passage to _Endor,_ " Hathier ignores the gasps. "In the process, she turned me into an elf. Said something like elves being her children."

"Do you have proof of this?" the king asks softly.

"There's a mark on his back, my lord," Luthrin answers quietly. "Galtara and I, we have seen it. Such a mark cannot be easily created."

"It's just under my right shoulder if you would like to see it, Your Highness." There's a glint in King Thranduil's eyes as he nods.

Turning his back to Prince Legolas, he asks for help in pulling down the back part of his tunic as he gathered his long hair up and lifts it off his back to reveal his neck. He feels the cold fingers of the prince trail his neck for a moment before pulling down the beautiful material of his tunic to reveal the mark of the Lady of the Light. Once again, several gasps were heard throughout the banquet hall. For a moment, Hathier allows the prince to hold the tunic down. When he started lowering his hands, the cold fingers are gone.

"It's a blessing," one elf whispers.

"A gift," says another.

Turning back around, Hathier averts his gaze back to his plate and picks up a pale orange berry. He rolls it between his pointer finger and thumb, wondering what sort of berry it is, before popping it into his mouth. It's a unique taste, one he could see himself getting used to should he remain in Mirkwood.

"She sent you here? Why?" Prince Legolas asks.

Hathier unconsciously reaches for his goblet with a barely there tremble not realizing the elves can see this and collects his thoughts. The war, he realizes, will be a somewhat difficult topic to explain. He inhales, exhales, and loosens his grip. The king did say he could deny them answers if he wanted too.

"Peace, mostly. I was...in a war," he struggles to form words. Closing his eyes, his shoulders slump. "I lost so many people I love and cherish. The ones that survived suffered beyond means. I was - am - lost." A bitter chuckle escaped. "I watched people I called family, people I called friends, die in front of me and I couldn't do anything to stop them. She asked me if I wanted to leave all that behind. I said yes." He opens his eyes.

To his surprise, he did not see pity in their eyes. In fact, the looks from Galtara and Luthrin are more of concern. The look on Tauriel's face is closed off, but her eyes gleam with encouragement. He briefly glances at the prince, but he seems more drawn into himself.

"I'm sorry, Hathier."

"Don't apologize, Your Highness. I could have denied you an answer if I wanted to." He shrugs one shoulder gracefully.

"Will you talk about the war?" King Thranduil asks. Hathier can see something, most likely remorse, in his eyes.

"Okay," Hathier replies and then sighs. "There were two wars, but I only partook in the second one. The first one leads to the second, I was an infant during the first. My parents were warriors in the first war and they died to keep me safe. The second war didn't start until I was 14-years-old." He resolves to entwine his hands and rest them in his lap. Looking at his plate, he continues. "There was a Dark Lord known as Voldemort and a prophecy. I'll tell you what it is." He recites the damn prophecy that ruined his life:

 _The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches._

 _Born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies._

 _And the Dark Lord will mark him as his equal, but he will have power the Dark Lord knows not._

 _And either must die at the hand of the other for neither can live while the other survives._

 _The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord will be born as the seventh month dies..._

"'Born to those who have thrice defied him?'" Galtara asks.

"My parents as well as the parents of a friend. We were both born too closely. The prophecy could have been about either of us. But as for 'thrice defy,' both my parents and his openly rejected Voldemort's offer to join his side of the war, they were part of an organization that rallied against his forces, and they stood in his way when he personally tried to kill me and sent his most faithful followers to kill my friend, but his parents were tortured to the point of losing their sanity."

"What is the 'power' this Dark Lord did not know?" King Thranduil asks. He has long since abandoned his goblet in favor of leaning forward in interest.

"To new listeners, it will sound silly but," he drinks the rest of his water, "it's the power of love." When no one laughs, he sees it as a means to continue. "My mother's sacrifice, her love, was too powerful. So powerful that it cast a barrier around me when the Dark Lord fired the killing curse at me."

"Killing curse?" Tauriel asks.

Hathier nods. "Where I come from, there are three curses know as the Unforgivables. The killing curse, the cruciatus curse, and the imperius curse. The killing curse is rather self-explanatory. If you're hit with it, you die. There is no way to bring you back. If used with good intention, it's a peaceful way to die. You feel no pain. The cruciatus is a whole other story. If you're subjected to it, it will feel as though your very being is on fire. If you are under it for eight or more minutes, you are highly unlikely to keep your sanity. And the final one, the imperius curse, takes control of your movement. The caster can force you to do anything they want if you can't manage to throw it off. And trust me, it's hard."

"You speak from experience," the king states.

"I've been subjected to all three, Your Highness."

Eyes narrow. "You just said no one can survive the killing curse."

Hathier nods slowly while finally sinking his teeth into the deliciously buttered beard. It has gone cold but he doesn't care.

"It's complicated," Hathier replies after he's down chewing. "When the Dark Lord tried to kill me as a child, his curse rebounded on my mother's love barrier and hit him instead. Doing so caused me to become a horcrux, which I'll explain in a minute, and he more or less died. Or, he just didn't have a body anymore." He looks into his empty goblet. "May I have more water, please?"

The king raises his hand and Hathier's goblet is once again filled. He downs half of it right away.

"Now, there are a few ways someone can become immortal in my old world. One, they could be turned into a vampire. In simple terms, vampire's can live forever as long as they stay out of the sunlight and feed on blood. The type doesn't matter. I don't know much more than that. Other ways would include drinking the blood of a unicorn - the purest creatures known - which will extend one's life. The downside to that is that the drinker lives a cursed life in which they must constantly feed in order to maintain their immortality. Like vampires, if they stop feeding they'll deteriorate into nothing. There are ways to prolong life as well. There's the sorcerer's stone, which allows the wielder to extend his or her life, but it was destroyed eventually. The creator, a wizard, nearly lived 700 years. Quite a feat for wizards because most don't live beyond 250 or so years. The final way to achieve immortality is to creature a horcrux. A horcrux is the process of splitting your very soul through an act of murder and placing that piece of soul in an object that can be hidden. The Dark Lord made six on purpose." He grins if only a little. "I was the one he didn't mean to make."

"When your mother died..." Tauriel trails off.

"And the killing rebound off me," he nods. "It destroyed his body and a part of his soul, what was left of it at that point, attached it's self to the first living thing it could find."

"You," Galtara says.

"Me," Hathier confirms.

"'And either must die at the hand of the other for neither can live while the other survives,'" Prince Legolas says slowly. "You died?"

Hathier nods. "Over the course of a year, I and my two closest friends hunted down his five remaining horcruxes and, mind you, they could have been anything. One of them was dealt with when I was twelve. But like I said, I was the unwanted horcrux. In order to make sure that he died and stayed dead, we had to deal with his pet snake and me. The snake eventually had its head chopped off by a friend and I allowed myself to be hit with the killing curse."

"You walked to your death," Prince Legolas whispers.

Hathier nods. "To ensure that Voldemort was defeated once and for all, I had too. I did not truly die. Instead, Voldemort killed the bit of soul that latched onto me. With all his horcruxes destroyed, he returned to that of a mortal man with a damaged soul. And then it was over just like that. He was pretty easy to kill. Any of his followers who managed to survive fled for their lives." He snorts. "They'll be hunted down and dealt with accordingly."

"How do you destroy a horcrux?" Luthrin asks, though there is disgust in his eyes.

Hathier doesn't blame him. He's was just as, and still is, disgusted with the idea that someone willingly murdered just for immortality.

"Basilisk venom, fiendfyre, and the killing curse in regards to myself."

"You shouted that second one when you saved us from the spiders," Tauriel says out loud as she gestures between herself and the prince.

"Fiendfyre is very difficult to control, but when you're racing against time you learn as quickly as you can. You two were in danger. And, for that matter, where is my pack? I have important things in there."

"I will have it sent to your room. No one went through it if that is your main concern," the king states.

"That's fine."

"Fiendfyre, it's a type of magic, yes?" Tauriel presses gently.

Hathier nods. "Yes, it's a spell. I asked the Lady if I could keep my magic and she allowed me too."

"It seemed overwhelming," the prince mumbles.

"Fiendfyre was created for the purpose of causing mass destruction. If the user is unable to control it, it could spread to incinerate everything in its path. It takes a large amount of concentration to maintain control of the fire." He smiles. "I wouldn't have let it hurt either of you."

"What sort of magic can you do?"

"All sorts. There's light magic, black magic, dark magic, and blood magic. Light magic is generally performed by light wizards and witches. It's the...gentler spells, but don't knock them. Any spell can be deadly if you have a creative mind. Black and dark magic are similar, although dark magic takes a more sinister presence. Blood magic is much like my mother's sacrifice."

"You can do all of that?" Luthrin asks, clearly amazed.

Hathier shoves more bread into his mouth, chews, swallows, and replies: "In times of war, what form of magic used doesn't matter when there's a possibility your side will lose. Light magic wasn't keeping people alive. We quickly resolved to use dark magic because it would get the job done quicker. Besides," he takes a sip of his water, "I was considered a gray wizard anyways so it came naturally to me."

"You were classified by magic type?" Tauriel asked, head tilted to the side. It vaguely reminds Harry of Ginny.

"Magic type, blood status, and family name."

"Can you explain?" King Thranduil asks, but Hathier can hear the underlying demand in his smooth voice.

"They're combined, Your Highness. Often, family name and blood status determine the magic type. Purebloods from old, well established, families tend to have dark magic because purebloods tend to marry other purebloods to keep their bloodlines pure. They'd go as far as to have their own mother help them sire a child." At this, disgusted looks abound in his direction. "There are, of course, the pureblood families that don't care if their son or daughter marry a half-blood or muggleborn. Half-bloods are those who have at least one magical parent. Muggleborns are those whose magic skipped a few good generations and random selection happens."

"What of non-magic children born to magic wielding parents?" Prince Legolas inquiries.

"They are known as squibs. There are a couple of theories as to why they can't perform magic; interhouse bedding and whatnot. Moving along, half-bloods tend to be gray. The shade of gray is determined mostly by the father's bloodline. For example, I am a darker shade of gray because my father came from a long established pureblood line. Being gray at all comes from my mother who was muggleborn. Despite being light, her magic was not enough to give me light magic during my birth. My father's natural dark magic was too great."

"His parents allowed him to marry a muggleborn?" Tauriel asks while leaning forward.

"I never met them, but from what I was told...they valued his happiness over their own opinions."

"I see," Tauriel answers. Hathier can see King Thranduil's eyes dart between Tauriel and Prince Legolas, face blank.

"It caused quite a scandal, apparently. A pureblood marrying a muggleborn was, at one point, seen as one of the greatest disrespects. Their marriage labeled him a blood traitor."

"That's rather dramatic," Prince Legolas states.

Hathier snorts. He finally feels himself relax among these elves. "Wizards are dramatic."

He gets a noise of amusement out of the king.

"There were a few good pureblood families that didn't care about blood status and the wealth or politics. My father's best friend was a pureblood. He had been going against his family's wishes for years before finding leaving after finding out that his parents wanted him to become one of the Voldemort's followers. His younger brother didn't have much luck. He went to my dad's house after finding out. They became great friends with two other boys. Both half-bloods." Hathier smiles a little at his plate. "They were good friends until the war." The last part is said with bitterness.

"If you would rather drop the conversation?" the prince asks, unsure.

"It's fine. I just realized that war makes you realize who your true friends and allies are. My parents died because one of my father's closest friends betrayed them to Voldemort." Hathier closes his eyes and breathes out slowly. "When my parents learned of the prophecy, they were advised to go into hiding so that they weren't easy targets. They'd still fight in the war, but their home was not easily located. This is because they had a secret keeper. My father's best friend insisted that he shouldn't be the secret keeper because he'd be an obvious target and another friend was currently undercover, so they used their last friend. This friend was no true friend," Hathier snaps. "He was a coward. When face-to-face with Voldemort, he gave them up to save himself. He didn't even hesitate." Hathier breathes slowly when the prince places a gentle hand on his arm. "I'm sorry," Hathier says. "I need a moment. Please excuse me."

He's up and out of the banquet hall in a matter of seconds before anyone can say anything.

* * *

Edited - 8/14/2017

If you have the time, please review.

~SiriuslyFallingInLove


	6. Chapter 6

**Warning(s)** : Brief mention of child abuse.

* * *

 **Chapter Four - Part 2**

 _"A safe fairyland is untrue to all worlds." - The Hobbit_

Hathier stops at the bottom of the steps right outside the banquet hall and takes a seat on the bottom step. He doesn't care if the elves see him curl into himself on it, doesn't care if they see him cry. He has no idea how to get back to his room anyway. When the first hot tear spills down his cheek, Hathier takes in a shaking breath. The first sob escapes like a man on the run. The second one comes out in a choked sound.

Covering his face, Hathier cries. Merlin, he misses his friends. He misses watching Ron stuff his face in the Great Hall. He misses Hermione sitting next to the fireplace in Gryffindor's common room, book in hand. He misses flying around with Ginny on the quidditch court. He misses watching Luna pass out the Quibbler, Neville taking care of his plants near the window by his bed, Dean and Thomas cuddling on the couch. He misses Sirius' hugs and jokes and Remus' calm smiles and offers of chocolate, Professor McGonagall's sass, and the twins joking around. He misses sitting inside on rainy days talking to his friends. He misses sleeping in on the weekend. He misses Hedwig and Dobby and Buckbeak.

Hathier wonders how the Weasleys are doing. Is Ginny okay? Did Ron and Percy's funerals go okay? Do they hate him for being so selfish? When a gentle hand lands on his shoulder, Hathier jumps. He doesn't care if he "makes for a very bad elf" and can't sense when people are near. Only a day and he feels miserable.

"We didn't mean to upset you," came a soft whisper.

Hathier recognizes the voice of Tauriel, the earthy scent surrounding her reminds him of Ginny. Strong and fierce and so loyal. He lifts his head and wipes away his tears as best he can. Tauriel does nothing more than keep her hand on his shoulder and sit next to him as he regains control of himself. Following that, he feels embarrassed for breaking down the way he did.

"The king has ordered the others to stop asking you questions," she says after a moment.

Hathier buries his face in his hands and groans softly. "I willingly answered them, my lady. I only wanted to settle all of your curiosity. As payment for allowing me to stay."

"We are aware," Tauriel replies. "But the king recognizes that such a difficult conversation should be spoken elsewhere. Tonight was meant to be a celebration."

"I don't mind answering questions," Hathier states after taking in a shaky breath.

"You fled the hall in distress. We all," she struggles for a moment, "feel ashamed that our questions lead you to do that."

Hathier only shakes his head and looks up to her. While so much of her aura reminds him of Ginny, Tauriel could be an elf version of his mom. Calm, carrying. Motherly like Mrs. Weasley, too.

"You remind me of my friend and my mom." When her eyebrows shoot up, Hathier elaborates. "Your aura is like my friend. Her name is Ginny. She's loyal, brave, kind, and strong. I can sense that from you." It's said wistfully.

"You loved her?"

"Romantic love? For a bit. She's everything a man could ask for, but when the war started heading off in a darker direction...I ended it. I couldn't bear the idea of losing her. She took it relatively well. Our separation caused my tense emotions to dwindle. I still love her, mind you, but not like I used too."

Tauriel nods. "That is understandable. Emotions will change all the time." Then, she smiles. "You have plenty of time now."

That brings along a sort of wet chuckles from Hathier.

"And your mother?" Tauriel presses gently. "How do I remind you of her?"

"If my mother were an elf, she'd probably look like you. You have the same shade of beautiful red hair. Ginny has red hair, but her's is lighter. And then there are your eyes..."

Tauriel blinks. "My eyes?"

"They're like mine, aren't they?" Hathier asks. "You, me, and she have the same shade of green eyes. I used to always hear that I look like my dad but I had my mother's eyes. And, for a while, it annoyed me. It seemed like the only thing people remembered about her. Not her achievements. Not her sacrifice. But now," he pauses to run a hand through his somewhat tangled hair. "But now, I'm grateful. Her eyes were considered really beautiful. I like the color of my eyes. And I think your eyes are beautiful, too." The she-elf blushes easily. Hathier only smiles when she dips her head in thanks. It would appear she wasn't really complimented on her looks.

"Do you wish to return to the feast?"

Hathier looks behind him to the stairs. For some reason, they look much bigger than earlier. "Must I?" he asks quietly.

"Of course not," Tauriel replies immediately. "King Thranduil sent me to either bring you back once you are ready or to escort you to your room."

Hathier laughs. Just a little. "I ran out of there like a madman."

"We do not fault you. We overwhelmed you."

"I knew discussing the war would be difficult, but I proceeded to anyway. It was my choice, but...I think I'm ready to discuss something else. Maybe."

Tauriel nods and removes her hand. She stands up and offers it to Hathier instead. Allowing himself to be pulled up, Hathier dusts his clothes in case anything unwanted clung to the beautiful material. He wouldn't want to walk back in the banquet hall and be dirty. It was bad enough that he would force himself to face them again.

"Lead the way, my lady."

Giving him a sort of mocking bow, she places her hand on the low of his back, much like the prince did earlier, and walks him up the stairs. With his improved vision, Hathier can see the elves are still talking. From the tilt of the prince's head and the king's position, he knew they were discussing something series. Luthrin and Galtara have their heads dipped towards each other, seeming to be in deep discussion. Hathier ignores the stares as he takes his seat. Before allowing Tauriel to walk away, his hand snaps out and grabs hers.

"Thank you," he says sincerely before retracting his hand.

A gentle smile appears on her face. "Of course."

Hathier watches as she returns to her seat, but not before bowing to the king.

"I apologize for upsetting you," the king states.

Hathier looks up at him, sees the sincerity in his eyes although his face is blank, and dips his head. "You have nothing to apologize for, Your Highness. I could have denied you answers, as you have given me permission to do so, and yet I spoke. But," he picks at his bread, "I would like to stop talking about the war for tonight if that is okay with you?"

"Of course." There's an underlying threat in the king's smooth voice, one that his people know well.

"Thank you."

The king merely raises his goblet in recognition.

"Do you have healing magic?" Galtara asks several minutes later. Hathier silently thanks him for waiting. He managed to eat two buttery rolls, half the berries on his plate, and a thick piece of meat.

"Oh yes," he says after a moment, treading carefully. "Powerful stuff, those potions and spells. We have something for just about any wound or illness. Spells that can grow back bones or stop bleeding and close wonders. Spells that return blood to the body, fix damaged eyesight, heal burns, and whatnot. Potions are more like medicine. At least, the ones involved with healing."

"You mentioned earlier about something called basilisk venom. There are few snakes in _Endor_ , but we have medicine to care for snake bites." It's Luthrin who says this.

"Basilisk venom is the most deadly of all venom, the most deadly of all poisons. Unless you own a phoenix's tears, you'll die. And trust me, when that venom is coursing through your body without a care, you'll start begging for death."

"You speak from experience," Tauriel states.

"I killed one when I was 12, but I had help. You see, a basilisk's venom isn't the only thing deadly about them. If you look a basilisk in the eye, you'll die. If you don't look it in the eye and are overwhelmed by it, meaning you can't escape, it will swallow you whole."

"It's that big?" the king asks.

Looking him in the eye, Hathier replies seriously. "It's twice as long as this table and can bring it's self to a height of over sixty feet. It's incredibly difficult to kill."

"But you managed."

"I got lucky," Hathier corrects. "I was 12 years old. I have the help of a phoenix and a sword. It was the first, and only, time I've ever used a sword. And let me tell you, Your Highness, I was _very_ bad at wielding it. But, I mean, I had an excuse. One, I was small for my age. Two, it was my first time holding a sword and I just swung it around and hoped for the best. The phoenix, his name is Fawkes by the way, blinded the basilisk. It had excellent hearing though. It also didn't help that I was walking in water and the person, a memory, controlling the basilisk was a horcrux and wanted me dead. The basilisk followed his command. When I was cornered and it was ready to bite me, I kind of just shoot forward and stabbed it through the roof of its head. One of the fangs pierced me."

"But you had a phoenix," Galtara says.

"But I had a phoenix," Hathier confirms. "The tears of a phoenix can heal most wounds and stop the venom. Instead of dying, I simply became immune. If other's were to touch something coated in basilisk venom, it would seep into their skin and kill them. It kind of makes me mad that the immunity of the venom didn't carry over to this world."

"What do you mean?" Prince Legolas.

"Where I'm from, if you survive basilisk venom you become immune to all poisons. Guess my time in _Endor_ won't be 100 percent perfect."

"Before we continue, why do you insist on saying _Endor_?" King Thranduil asks.

Hathier blinks. "Is...that not the correct word?"

"It is correct in a way," the prince answers. "It is not commonly used outside of formal writing or scholars. It is of the Quenya dialect."

"Oh, well, that's what the Lady said. But if it's not the common word used now, may I know the proper word used?"

"In common elvish, Sindarin, which is what is widely used now, we say _Ennor_. In common tongue, of which we are speaking right now, it is simply known as Middle Earth."

Hathier laughs lightly. "The overall place I come from is called Earth. Britain, the continents, and all creatures reside on it. This place is called Middle Earth and my original home is called Earth." When he sees the amusement directed towards him, he ducks his head. "Sorry, that seems funny to me."

"You will need to learn elvish," the king says after a moment. "While all elves know the common tongue, it's unheard of that a single elf cannot speak elvish."

"Oh," Hathier's head snaps up. "Galtara and Luthrin offered. I would like to learn."

The king nods his approval. "Good."

"Will you talk more about the creatures of your world?" Tauriel asks. "We've learned much about the basilisk, but what of the...unicorn? You say they are your purest creatures?"

Hathier nods. "The best way to describe them is that they are horses with long, sharp horns on their heads. The horn is sought after by the most private collectors. The hair of a unicorn contains healing properties and I have already mentioned what their blood can do. Slaying a unicorn is a great offensive, even punishable by death depending on what land you are one. Without magic or manipulation, only those with pure intentions are allowed to touch them." He pauses to take a drink of his water. "Children, mostly. Other pure creatures. Even those with dark magic were allowed to approach them if they had no intention of harming them."

"I wish I could see one," Tauriel sighs. "They sound lovely."

"I may be able to show you once I have my wand."

"Wand?" Galtara asks. "Is it like a wizard's staff."

Hathier nods. "Staffs are large and can be a hassle to carry around. Wands are much smaller. Easy to stow away. No wand is the same. They are necessary unless you're a master at wandless magic. In some cases, you can use a wand without actually saying the spell."

"Can you cast wandless magic?" King Thranduil asks.

Hathier tilts his head before dropping his gaze to the king's goblet resting peacefully next to his hand. Nodding towards it, all noise in the Banquet Hall ceases immediately as the goblet, recently filled, ascends from the table. Several pairs of eyes flickered between the goblet, the king, and the magic casting guest of honor. The king looks at Hathier with something like amazement before reaching out to grab the goblet firmly and pull it towards himself. He takes a sip and nods.

"Fascinating."

Hathier grins.

"Does this mean you are a master of wandless magic?" the prince inquires.

"Merlin, no! I've only been alive 17 years. Masters have several decades of experience."

"Only 17?" Galtara gasps at the same time the prince says, "Merlin?"

"Yes, well, the age of maturity for witches and wizards is 17." The king looks like he wanted to ask something, but decided not to and his face returned to that carefully blank expression. "And my use of 'Merlin' is just an expression. Merlin was a powerful wizard and war hero. Some even claim he is the beginning of magic and all witches and wizards descend from him or whatever. I'm not sure how much of that is true because I was raised by muggles half of my life and was more focused on my magic learning while also dealing with a Dark Lord who tried to kill me nearly every year since I turned eleven."

"You were raised by muggles?" Galtara asks. "Why not a witch or wizard?"

"Because one of the muggles that raised me is my mother's sister. I was forced to stay in her home because of blood wards that kept those with ill intent from harming me when I'm away from Hogwarts or with my friends."

"How were you able to practice magic then?" the prince asks. "Did you have a sort of tutor?"

Hathier glanced at all of them, expression blank. "You won't like hearing the answer to that."

"We will not push you," the king states, but the warning is clear to all of those who are listening.

"Okay, well, to start...my mother's sister, my aunt, was extremely jealous that she couldn't perform magic like her younger sister. I really did mean it when I said it was random selection. Anyway, she took her frustrations and jealousy out on me. She, her husband, and their son. They rejected all things magic related and in doing so, did not find anyone one to help me. It didn't help that I had a high volume of accidental magic too."

"Accidental magic?"

Hathier doesn't know who says it as he is looking at his hands, but he continues. "Yes, accidental magic. Like wandless magic, but with was less control. Children can't be expected to control their magic right away. It is what it is."

"This aunt of yours," Tauriel starts, "she did not react well to accidental magic?"

"Of course not. I was punished by her, her husband, and their son." He could tell that they wanted him to elaborate on the 'punished' bit, but he only indulges them just so. "I'm not going into detail, but I will say this," he staples his fingers together and levels his stare to each of them. "There's a line between what is an acceptable punishment in regards to a child's actions and what is abuse." He hears a sharp intake of breath from next to him but ignores it.

When no one said anything, he concludes: "I did not have a happy childhood."

"I'm so sorry," Tauriel whispers. "I did not mean -I wasn't - "

Hathier offers her a kind smile. "I'm not mad, I promise. Besides," he leans back in his seat, "when I got my letter to Hogwarts, things started to change. I made great friends. I found myself a family. I learned what it meant to love and be loved. And for all the war took from me, I would never forsake the moments that made the air more breathable. My memories keep me going. It's unrealistic to say I'll always be happy. There will be days I recall the bad events of my life, but I won't let that stop me from living."

"I'm glad you've come to that realization," the prince says. "The past is the past. And while we must keep the past in mind, we shouldn't allow it to dictate our future." The prince is looking at his father, whose face is carefully blank, and ends his comment with a raised eyebrow. The air is a little more tense than normal.

 _Family drama_ , Hathier thinks.

"Well said, Your Highness," Hathier replies. And just like that, the tension disappears. The king inclines his head but doesn't verbally reply.

"Will you tell us more about this place of learning?" Luthrin asks.

"Hogwarts. It's the first place I've ever called home," Hathier begins, a small smile gracing his face. "The proper title is 'Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry' and it's located in a castle. It was built by four powerful beings. Two witches and two wizards; Godric Gryffindor, Helga Hufflepuff, Rowena Ravenclaw, and Salazar Slytherin about a 1000 years before I was born. In Hogwarts, there are four houses; one named after each founder. Your first night there, you're sorted into one of these houses based on your strongest traits. Those with strong ties to loyalty and bravery were sorted into Gryffindor. Those with strong ties to kindness and justice were sorted into Hufflepuff. Those with strong ties to wit and ready mind were sorted into Ravenclaw. And those with strong ties to ambition and cunning were sorted into Slytherin. That isn't to say that you won't have traits from all houses, but rather what sticks out about your personality the most."

"What house were you in?"

"Gryffindor, but the sorting hat said I'd do well in Slytherin."

"How does one attend Hogwarts?" the king inquiries while he waves his hand.

Hathier then realizes that he is the absolute center of attention from all the elves and the king was dismissing everyone who wasn't invited to sit at the end of the table near him. The remaining food and drank, along with their plates, is quickly dealt with. Hathier also makes sure to thank the she-elf who took his dirty plate and refills his goblet with water.

"You receive a letter," he finally answers, "that is brought to you by an owl."

"Why an owl?" Luthrin asks.

"Many reasons. Owls are wise, determined, and can carry over long distances. Much faster than ravens or pigeons. But yes, we get a letter. The first letter is an acceptance letter which also includes a list of supplies you'll need for your stay at Hogwarts for an entire year, excluding summer and the Winter Hols. Following the first year, every letter after is mostly to send you a list of supplies." He grins.

"How long do you attend Hogwarts?"

"You start at the age of 11, give or take a couple of months, and finish at the age of 17, give or take a few months. So seven years. In my case, I only attended six of the seven years."

"Because of the war," the prince says quietly.

"Yes. I mentioned earlier that the second war didn't really start until I was 14, but it greatly picked up towards the end of my sixth year at Hogwarts. Halfway into summer, I and my two closest friends were off hunting horcruxes and trying not to die. I didn't stay long enough to retake my seventh year. I could have, but I choose to come here instead."

"We are glad you're here," Tauriel says.

"If only to save you from nasty spiders," he replies seriously. "I hate spiders."

"So you say," the prince laughs a little. "I'm sure there's a story to that."

"There is," Hathier returns the laugh. "When I was 12, an army of spiders tried to eat me and my friend. I mean, the leader apologized for his children but didn't try to stop them. Said something about how they were hungry. Even though he was a friend of a friend!" Hathier huffs.

"Were you captured? How did you manage to escape?" Galtara asks.

"Um, well, we actually walked into the forest to talk to the leader..." he trails off to the look of disbelief on everyone's face. Even the king looked shocked.

"You willingly walked into a forest full of spiders?" Tauriel asks slowly. "At the age of 12?"

"Um, yes? But it was more like a cave in the forest. My friend and I went there looking for answers. It's related to the basilisk incident."

"How so?" Luthrin inquiries. He looks as though he is assessing Hathier's mental state.

"Spiders are afraid of basilisks. Our other friend was book-smart. She did lots of research and found out, but unfortunately, she was petrified at the time and couldn't go with us. Her research helped us a lot. We managed."

"Petrified?"

"It's a long story. But the short version is that the basilisk used the plumbing to travel around the school and petrified students who were lucky enough to not look it directly in the eye."

"How did it get in the school in the first place?" the prince asked clearly bewildered.

"Salazar Slytherin placed it in his secret chamber in hopes that, one day, a descent would unleash it on all the muggleborns."

"That's terrible!"

Hathier nods. "It's repulsive. Salazar Slytherin saw muggleborn witches and wizards as 'tainted' blood and therefore unworthy to study magic. Hermione, my friend that was petrified, was a muggleborn. Brightest witch of our age. Always looked at things from a logical standpoint. She did research on the basilisk at the risk of getting hurt so that someone would find a clue on how to stop it. It led me and Ron, our other friend, to the forest for answers. Almost right after that, we went to the chamber after finding out that Ron's younger sister, Ginny, was trapped in the chamber."

"Why you and not an older wizard? You were but children." The king.

"Why was she taken to the chamber and not killed?" The prince.

"The fool who volunteered to go into the chamber quickly became a coward. At wand point, Ron and I forced him into keeping his promise and made him go into the chamber. He didn't much appreciate that and, after we went down this slide-like tunnel, took Ron's wand and tried to erase our memories. Unfortunately for him, he didn't realize that Ron's wand was broken and a broken wand can cause much more damage. The spell backfired on him and erased his own memory."

"Good," Tauriel states. Hathier smiles a little.

"Because his spell backfired, it caused a cave-in separating Ron and I. I decided to go on and find Ginny while he tried to work some stones out of place so we could crawl back through. I get through the final door blocking the way into the chamber and see Ginny lying on the floor, dying. Not from basilisk venom, but because of one of Voldemort's horcruxes. For most of the year, Ginny was under the possession of Voldemort. He placed a piece of his soul into a diary and Ginny wrote in it. His horcrux manipulated her into trusting him and he quickly took control of her. He was feeding on her life source. After telling me who he was and taking away my wand, which I dropped to look at Ginny, he summoned the basilisk to kill me. From there, you know the rest." He chooses not to mention his ability to speak parseltongue.

"At the age of 12," Galtara shakes his head.

Hathier smiles. "I know it sounds unbelievable, but I am telling the truth. I swear."

"We believe you, Hathier. But we're done for tonight." King Thranduil stands up as do the others. "You have given us much of your history and we will return in kind tomorrow. For now, I will have you escorted to your room or you are free to roam."

It is a dismissal if Hathier ever heard one. He bows to the king. "Thank you for the meal, Your Highness. It was...delicious." When he says nothing more, no request to go back to his room or whatnot, the king dips his head, bids them all a good evening, and sweeps out of the banquet hall in perfect silver robes and glowing hair.

"Will you show me your library?" Hathier asks.

"There are books written in common tongue," Luthrin muses. "But, unfortunately, Galtara and I must return to the Healing House."

"Oh, are there others who are hurt?" Hathier asks. He doesn't recall seeing anyone else in the room he was in.

"A few," Galtara answers. "Placed in a separate room." _In case you were an enemy._

Hathier nods. "Thank you, both of you, for what you've done for me. I wish them a full recovery." With matching smiles and promises to see him tomorrow, the two elves leave while Hathier remains with Tauriel and Prince Legolas.

"To the library?" the prince asks.

"Right after you, my lord," Hathier says as follows just a step behind with Tauriel.

* * *

Edited - 8/14/2017

If you have the time, please review.

~SiriuslyFallingInLove


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter Five**

 _"Others will tell him what his mother and father died for. One day, he'll understand." - Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows_

Upon entering the library, Hathier is filled with a sense of tranquility. The library is almost completely different from what he had expected. Instead of the golden wood walls, there is white marble. Instead of the earthy green furniture, there are tables made of cherry wood with matching chairs. There are a couple of large windows, showering much of the library with the sunlight permitted through. Under some of these windows are lounging couches and plushie chairs.

But what really gets Hathier going is the shelves upon shelves of books, scrolls, stone and wooden tablets, supplies, and whatnot. Such a library put the one in Hogwarts to shame. Hermione, Hathier knows, would have loved to visit a place as grand as this. There is a gentle aura about the large room. The elves within regard them politely, some dipping their heads towards Prince Legolas, and continue on with their business.

"I believe," Hathier starts, "that I found my favorite place in your kingdom."

Prince Legolas responds with a chuckle.

"It is one of my favorite places as well," Tauriel says as she moves to stand next to Hathier. "It's almost as if - "

" - as if the darkness cannot reach it," Hathier finishes. "It's beautiful."

"Why did you want to come to the library? Wouldn't you rather rest?" Prince Legolas asks while leading Hathier towards one of the shelves, Tauriel falls behind them by half a step.

"I have no idea how long I was asleep before waking up in the Healing House and when I was taken to my room, I slept much of the time away before you came for me. I am not tired right now. A poor sleep schedule, but one I'm used too."

The prince nods and they come to a full stop in front of a shelf containing several scrolls on the top five shelves followed by books that take up the other spaces. "This specific shelf contains much history regarding Middle Earth, the races, and the events that have taken place before your arrival," he says as he pulls out a scroll. With a grin, he hands it over. "It's written in common tongue, something you will be able to understand."

Hathier resists the urge to stick out his tongue. The prince's words earlier - _You make for a very bad elf_ \- ring clear in his head. Instead, he smiles politely and accepts the scroll. "Just you wait, Your Highness. Soon enough, I will be talking circles around you."

Prince Legolas grins. "I look forward to that."

"Would it be okay if I took a couple of these back to my room?" Hathier asks. He inspects the shelf, looking at the scrolls, but preferring to take the books.

"Of course," the prince replies. "Take as many as you would like."

Smiling his thanks, Hathier selects two more scrolls and four small, easily storable, books. He regards his small collection protectively as he is led from the library. The trip back to his room is silent but comfortable. As they walk the pathway, Hathier is once again under the watchful, often thoughtful, gaze of many elves. Some look at him in wonder, some curious. Word about his little trick earlier with the king's goblet must have spread fast along with his story and inability to speak or understand elvish.

Sighing internally, Hathier is thankful that they make good time back to his room. He wants to settle in for the evening and start his reading soon. Hermione would be proud of him. The thought has him smiling.

"We're here," Tauriel states. She steps forward and opens the door before moving aside so Hathier can step inside. There's a lantern lite next to his bed on the small bedside table.

"Thank you," he calls over his shoulder.

"No one will disturb you tonight," Prince Legolas says after a moment. "I cannot guarantee any night that follows."

"If that is the case, I should use tonight to my advantage," Hathier replies. "I know they will be curious. I will do my best to settle their minds should they approach."

The prince nods. "If you feel yourself under pressure, do not hesitate to ask them to stop or leave."

Hathier places his collection on his bed. True to the king's word, his pack is resting unopen on it. There is some stitching on the side indicating a tear taking place at some point.

"Have a good night," Prince Legolas calls out. "Someone will be here in the morning to escort you to breakfast."

"Thank you," he replies sincerely. "For everything."

"We are the ones who should be thanking you," Tauriel states quietly. "You have saved our lives."

Hathier doesn't say anything to that. He merely shoots Tauriel a smile. The two elves back out of the room and closed the door softly. The moment the door clicks, Hathier discards his collection onto the bed and dives into his bag and pulls out his mirror. Sending a silent prayer in hopes that it's not too late, Hathier calls for Andromeda Tonks.

The mirror does nothing for a moment. Hathier calls again, hoping that Andromeda answers. Hoping that the mirror works. For several long minutes, Hathier calls through the mirror. Dread fills him when no one answers. "Please," he whispers. "Please, please."

He calls one more time, all his hope pouring into his voice. A moment and then - "Harry?"

Such a soft voice calls his name. His old name. "Andromeda?" Hathier breathes in relief. "Is it really you?" He looks into the mirror, sees the tired look on Sirius' cousin's face, and winces internally. He more than likely woke her up. And with infant Teddy, she probably gets little to no sleep.

The woman in the mirror looks at him questioningly for a moment. Her eyes narrow is suspicion. "What was the last thing Harry Potter said to me before he left the wizarding world?"

"To always keep the mirror close," Hathier states quietly. "Because I can't bear the thought of never seeing or hearing from any of you ever again."

Andromeda relaxes. "The funerals were a couple of hours ago."

Hathier flinches. "Their reactions?"

She sighs. "Arthur, the twins, Ginny? All heartbroken. Molly? Equal parts angry and sad. Hermione's parents held her funeral back in the muggle graveyard near their home. I didn't get a chance to speak to them. Remus and Dora were buried at Godric's Hallow next to your parents. I had them put down a mark for Sirius as well."

 _An empty grave._

"I'm so sorry, Meda," Hathier whispers.

She shakes her head. "In truth, no one blames you. The Weasleys, well, they wish you said good-bye. But they are grateful for the money. Ron and Percy's funerals were done nicely. Arthur is supposed to be speaking to a specialist about giving Ginny back her arm. Not a flesh arm, but one that is mobile. A prosthetic, I believe. The twins continue with their joke shop and repairs for Hogwarts start tomorrow."

"That's good. Both Ginny's arm and Hogwarts."

A yawn breaks out from Andromeda. "Do you want to see Teddy?"

"Yes, please!" Hathier watches as the mirror shifts and then a tiny baby comes into view. Pale blue hair, button nose, and glowing skin - Teddy Lupin is beautiful. Hathier can't help it. He coos at the baby who looks into the mirror. "Hello, Teddy. I'm your godfather, Harry. Well, I no longer go by Harry."

"What do you go by? And for that matter, why do you look so different?" Hathier sees the ceiling for a moment and then the mirror is readjusted. In Andromeda's arms is baby Teddy. Immediately, Teddy's hair shifts to the same color as Hathier's. His eyes soon follow and then Hathier is staring into identical green eyes. Teddy falls into his baby babble with happiness. His tiny hands wave around as he talks to Hathier through the mirror.

"Speaking already?" Hathier asks, shocked. Teddy is only about a week old.

"Shocked me took," Andromeda mumbles. "Thought someone broke in once."

Hathier laughs. Just a little as to not startle his godson. "A little genius."

"Dora was a top student during her Hogwarts years."

"And Remus graduated top of his class," Hathier replies. "Combined genius."

"Yes, now answer my questions. What name do you go by now? And why? And why do you look different."

"Long story short, I took the easy way out of not dealing with the aftermath of the war. I was given another opportunity by a celestial being. She took me away and turned me into an elf." Hathier pushes his hair back to show his pointy ears. "And it was just my luck that I happen to stumble across a prince and a captain in distress during my first day here in this new world. Saved them. Passed out. Woke up in a kingdom. The king gave me a new name because I asked him too. I go by Hathier now."

"Hathier," Andromeda says slowly before looking down at Teddy. "Teddy, this is your godfather, Hathier. He is a good person. He had to go away to heal."

"Meda..." Hathier whispers.

"It's the truth," she replies simply. "A long healing of which you justly deserve. Among a lot of things."

"A cowardly way to go without speaking to anyone."

"Stop," Andromeda says quietly. "You told me, Miss Lovegood, and Mr. Longbottom. The others? They understand. Are they sad that you said nothing? Yes. But not telling them avoids the part of having them try to convince you to stay."

Hathier shakes his head. "I see no point in arguing with you."

"I'd win the argument anyways."

Hathier's lips twitch into an almost smile. When another yawn escapes Andromeda's mouth only to be echoed by Teddy, Hathier smiles fully.

"Get some sleep, both of you."

"Of course," she replies. "You'll call back soon."

"Of course. Good night," Hathier whispers when Teddy rests his head on her shoulder. "Love you both."

"We love you too."

A moment later, Hathier lowers the mirror and walks over to place it on the vanity gently. He gazes at himself through the mirror and sees watery eyes. He had been close to crying and not realized it. Turning back to his pack, he pulls out the elder wand. With a wave of his hand, several small orbs appear. He waves his wand again and the orbs take up different parts in the room, casting it in a soft glow. Once down, Hathier blows out the lantern. The room darkens, but only slightly.

It's the preferred amount of light he likes to use when reading. Going about reading his collect is much more difficult than Hathier thought it would be. The stories often overlap, some dismissing others, some completely different, some changing different things, but Hathier understands different people will tell different things.

Most of the scrolls speak of a place known as Gondor, or Minas Tirith (depending on the author), and the "conspiracy" surrounding the true ruler of the once glorious kingdom. There are mentions of death and destruction, kings overthrown and whatnot. Much of it is interesting, but clear bias shines through all of the works. Those who are for a claiming of the throne and those against.

For the next hour or so, Hathier speed reads through everything. The history of the race of men is interesting, but he wants to know more about elves. And dwarves. And hobbits. These other races mentioned seem just as interesting. The occasional comment of them is enough that Hathier really wants to go back to the library. When the last scroll is lowered, Hathier yawns and flops onto his back. The pillows, as he remembers, are still as plushie as before. He's out in a matter of seconds.

 _Come ye' child of hope and dreams,_

 _Your story starts anew._

 _A place of peace and love awaits,_

 _But only you can make it true._

 _The amount of time this peace lasts,_

 _It can only be determined by you. [1]_

By now, Hathier isn't disoriented about waking up in Elbereth Gilthoniel's world of white light. The only difference is now he can hear the water, hear the birds, and the meadow of which he finds himself is filled with a variety of white flowers. He sits up and reaches out to touch a flower. It feels real. The petals as delicate as ever.

 _Hello, child. How do you fare?_

"Rather well," Hathier replies. "Though, I am...a little sad."

 _That other child, the small one? The woman? You miss them dearly?_

"I was supposed to look after him, after them, but...I ran away."

 _If you are of the belief that you will never see them in person again, then you think so little of me. I offered you a place to heal, to experience peace, that does not mean you have to forget what was left behind or that you will never see those you love again. You will see them and your friends again, in ways you would guess._

Hathier says nothing. He closes his eyes. Even in this dream world, he feels as though he could cry. He didn't forget about the wars to come after the peace.

 _You are allowed to cry._

A single tear trail down Hathier's face. Something soft brushed against his cheek, the wetness from the tear gone. Hathier opens his eyes and finds himself staring into such intense silver eyes, he looks away.

 _Why do you turn away?_

Hathier looks back and sees a woman. She is otherworldly. Long black hair, longer than Hathier has ever seen, pools at her waist from where she sits across him in the meadow. Her hair shines beautiful, her skin like moonlight, and her eyes. Liquid silver is the only way he can describe it. There is a silver cloak around her person. He knows this to be Elbereth Gilthoniel. There is a faint sort of golden glow about her among the white background.

"You're beautiful," he replies. There are far better ways to describe her, but he sticks with simplicity. "In a cliche sort of way, you're too beautiful to look at."

 _And yet, you look._ A knowing smile appears on her face although her lips do not move.

Hathier only shrugs. "It's rude to not look at the person you're speaking to...if they are there to look at. Why are you showing yourself to me?"

 _You are distressed._ A troubled look overtakes her face. _I do not...know what else I can do to ease it. The pain in your heart, of which you try to ignore, is heavy._

"It will take time, a long time before I start feeling better. The war," Hathier briefly closes his eyes, "took almost everything from me. I won't be okay for a long time. Not even divine powers can fully help me."

Her head tilts to the side. _You are determined though._

"I want to make the best of my situation."

She smiles. _I will be there to guide you should you only ask._ She reaches forward and covers Hathier's eyes. _I will do my best to lift this heaviness from your heart._

Hathier does nothing to stop her. He doubts he could if he tried. When she removes her hand, it's as if a weight was lifted from Hathier's shoulders.

"What did you do?"

 _Increase your ability to control your magic._

Hathier frowns, confused. "That's possible? I thought it took years to gain true control of one's magic. I feel like a cheater."

A sound, like bells, can be heard across the meadow. It takes Hathier a moment to realize that it's laughter and it comes from the one across him.

 _I merely took the edge off. Your dedication and self-training fall to you._

"Oh," he replies lamely. "Thank you."

 _I foresee you finding a specialty soon. Healing, perhaps?_

Hathier nods. Before entering Middle Earth, he entertained the idea of becoming a Healer rather than am Auror or Professor. The war left its scar on him and if he can't help himself, he can help others. If given the chance.

 _You will find yourself a student once again, to two teachers, if you choose the path of healing._

Hathier remembers Galtara kind smile and Luthrin's apologetic one. Galtara is clearly the head healer. Luthrin is, perhaps, just beyond on that of a recent student.

"I would like to do that, but I don't want to impose on their territory."

 _You will find, young one, that they are far more willing to teach than you perceive them to be. You need only ask._

He nods. "I will, eventually, but I want the elves of Greenwood - sorry, Mirkwood - to fully accept me first. I've entered into their home and messed with the tranquility. While most regard with curiosity or kindness, some seem a bit reluctant. I know a lot of it has to the do with the darkness surrounding their home. I want them to come to accept me in their own regard and not at the order of the king and prince. It seems silly, probably."

 _Honorable._ She corrects. _You wish them to come to their own conclusions about you without outside influence._

Hathier shrugs. "Okay, let's go with that. I just know they are protective, which is understandable, of the royal family. When Tauriel mentioned the deceased queen and the fact that I made the king laugh after so long, I can only imagine the sadness, the _stillness_ , of this place."

She nods, her eyes sad. _We, my kin and I, cannot always protect those we love. But she watches, the fallen queen, after her husband and son. She mourns the disconnect between them._ She smiles. Just a bit. _She hopes that you will reestablish the bond between father and son._

"I can only try," Hathier replies.

 _At times, that is all we can do._

When the world around them starts to dim and the light surrounding Elbereth Gilthoniel fades and transparency claims her skin, Hathier asks, "Am I waking up?"

She nods.

"When I come back, will I see you again? In this form?"

 _Perhaps._

Hathier nods. He has no choice but to be satisfied with that answer. "Thank you."

 _It is I, among all others, who have you to thank._ It's said in a sort of mysterious way, but Hathier pays no real mind to it. _Rest well, child._

Everything fades.

 _Not all family ends in blood,_

 _Some come from the journey,_

 _Other's show up when unexpected,_

 _But all love and are loved. [2]_

Hathier awakens with a lighter heart, if only just so. Sometime during his sleep the orbs he created disappeared. Glancing towards a window, he sees that it's still relatively dark. The sun would be up in an hour or so. Seeing the mess of his bed from reading the previous night, Hathier sets about cleaning it up swiftly. He rolls up the scrolls and secures them with their ties, gets up, and places them and the books on the dresser.

Walking over to the closet, he opens it and stares wide-eyed at the beautiful garments inside. Much of the wardrobe is made up of silver and blue with the occasional green and gold mixed it. Reaching out, he trails a finger over a pale blue tunic with silver stitching. It's soft to the touch. Softer than his pillows. He moves along to the other clothing. There are varying shades of blue. Each with silver stitching, each equally soft. The material is of high quality. He was given clothing fit for -

" - a king," Hathier mumbles as he picks out a dark blue tunic with matching leggings and - thankfully - his black boots were in the closet. He sets them on the bed and peels off his clothes from last night. He takes off the loose bandages around his arm and sees the wound closed nicely although it will leave a scar. Hathier gets dressed slowly.

When he's done, he moves to stand in front of the mirror. His long hair looks like a curly, wavy mess. Moving to the vanity, he starts openings draws for a brush or comb or hair tie or whatever. Anything to tame his hair. He finds a few ribbons in varying color and a brush made of cherry wood with dense, but soft bristles. It's beautifully carved. For the next half hour, Hathier brushes his hair, attempting to tame the curls and wavy bits. The hair he so admired before is becoming a pain to care for. It curls under his chin and around his temple.

Scowling, he places the brush down and gathers his hair into a high ponytail. He secures it with a dark silver ribbon. Satisfied with his appearance, for the most part, Hathier makes his way back to his bed ad pulls out his wand holder and straps to his arm with the elder wand in place. He walks to his bedroom door and opens it slowly, peering into the hallway. There's no one around, save for a single guard at the end of the hall. Hathier steps out of his room and walks to him. The guard looks at him curiously.

"Good morning."

"Good morning," the guard replies slowly. "Can I help you, m'lord?"

"The king gave me permission to roam, but I don't know my way around here yet. Can you suggest somewhere to go?"

The guard's lips twitch as if he's trying not to smile. He turns and points down a hallway. "If you take this hallway to the end, you'll come to a flight of stairs. Go down them and walk all the way to the end of the path. Turn left. The garden of the late queen resides there. It is open to everyone. It is," he pauses, hesitating briefly, then continues, "not consumed by the darkness."

Hathier dips his head. "Thank you. If, um, someone comes looking for me, please tell them where I am."

"Of course," the guard bows and Hathier carries on. He makes it to the garden in about 10 minutes and stands there shocked.

It's absolutely stunning.

There is a fountain in the center, like the gardens he's seen in Aunt Petunia's muggle magazines, surrounded by rows and rows of white roses, multi-colored tulips, and other flowers he doesn't know. There is a swing made of golden wood and twisted vines near the fountain. There's a small pile of gardening tools right next to the swing. Hathier can see, as he enters the garden fully, that some of the rose bushes need tending too and some weeds at the bottom of said bushes need to be pulled.

"I was the only reason Aunt Petunia's garden looked nice," Hathier mumbles. "And this place is well-loved." He walks towards the gardening tools and crouches down to pick up a small pruner. He turns it over in his hands and gazes back at some of the rose bushes. Some of them need to be trimmed. Glancing at the sky, he sees the sun is just barely rising. "I have time. I can help." He walks over to a rose bush, reaches up to stroke the delicate white petals, and gets to work.

* * *

Edited - 8/14/2017

If you have the time, please review.

~SiriuslyFallingInLove


	8. Chapter 8

**Interlude - Legolas**

 _Roads go ever ever on_  
 _Under cloud and under star_  
 _Yet feet that wandering have gone_  
 _Turn at last to home afar._

 _~ The Hobbit_

He knew it was foolish to bring Tauriel with him to track down the spider's nest. He knew it was foolish to only bring his swords and not his arrows. And yet, he did it anyway. They were outnumbered. Many of the spiders are far larger than his previous encounters with them.

"We should not have come alone," Tauriel states as she dodges a stinger.

Legolas does not reply. He knows she is right. The spiders have come far closer to his kingdom's borders than any other time the elves of the Woodland realm have encountered them. Something must have happened to bring them closer. The area surrounding Mirkwood is becoming darker, more sinister. Ugly.

Just as he strikes a spider through its head, an elf unlike any other he's ever seen bursts into the clearing. His hair sticks out like a sore thumb, somewhat wild and longer than he's ever seen on an elf. Legolas watches, mesmerized briefly, as the elf raises a bumpy stick and a flash of blue light leaps from its tip to take out the two spiders near himself and one near Tauriel. The spiders explode. They explode into nothing. Not a single trace of them left behind.

Legolas doesn't have much time to think when the elf yells "Get down!" and he, along with Tauriel, hit the deck covering their heads when the elf motions for them to drop. Just then, an intense heat washes over his body and the screeches of agony from the spiders are just enough to cause him to raise his head briefly. He sees the fire. Bright, hot, and in the shape of some type of bird fly over them. He drops his head again. When the fire is gone, Legolas gets up just in time to see the elf lean against a dirty tree, his expression clearly of discomfort.

Cautiously, he and Tauriel approach the elf. To say thank you, of course, and to offer assistance seeing as the elf appears seconds away from fainting.

"Are you both okay?" the elf in asks in _common_.

Legolas blinks, stunned. Why is the elf speaking _common_? He glances at Tauriel but sees that she is equally as confused. "We are fine," he replies slowly in hopes the elf would understand.

When the elf shakes his head and states he doesn't understand, Tauriel asks if he can speak elvish. Again, the elf shakes his head. If the situation were less stressful, Legolas would have laughed. Instead, he merely comments of an elf being unable to speak elvish. He receives a huff for that.

"You're injured," Tauriel states while stepping forward with the intention to help.

"I'll be fine in a moment."

"Hardly," Legolas replies and grabs a hold of the elf's injured arm to peel back the careless bandages. He recognizes this sort of wound immediately, a sharp intake can be heard from his right. Tauriel recognizes the black veins as they all do when injured by an orc's arrow.

"That was caused by an orc's arrow," Tauriel whispers. "The poison is spreading fast."

"Will he survive the trip to the Healing House?"

"If we hurry, my lord. Both his arm and his life may be saved yet."

They turn back to the elf whose head is leaning back in a sort of defeated appearance. "So much for peace," the elf mumbles.

Neither he nor Tauriel reply. They don't know what to say to that.

"We will take you to the healer," Legolas says as Tauriel helps him position the elf so he can carry him on his back. He watches, somewhat amused, as the elf makes an attempt to take his pack back from Tauriel when she heaves it off his shoulder but gives up rather quickly. They start to move quickly through the forest. Legolas sends a silent prayer to the Valar that all three arrive at the kingdom without coming across any more dark creatures.

"I hope we don't run into any more spiders. I hate spiders." It's said in a huff next to his ear. Legolas has to suppress a shiver.

"You're babbling," Tauriel says, sounding urgent. "A side effect of the poison. Your highness, we must hurry." It's said in common, either by mistake on Tauriel's part or her wishing to inform the elf of the urgency of his situation. Moments later, the head of the elf slumps against his shoulder. Legolas knows immediately the elf has lost grip on his conscious.

They arrive back home in a matter of minutes. Even with the elf, seeming far lighter than an elf should be, they make good time. The moment they land in front of the doorway, Legolas orders Tauriel to inform his father of the elf, to tell the story of their situation truthfully, and to return to him if allowed. Legolas shifts the elf slightly and hurries towards the House of Healing. The moment he's through the door, Healer Galtara is out of his seat near the window in a mere few seconds.

"Your Highness," he greets. "Lay him there." He points to the bed nearest to the hot spring.

"Poison," Legolas states before the healer can ask. "From an orc's arrow."

Healer Galtara nods. "I will care for him."

"Do you require assistance, my lord?" Another elf seemingly appearing out of nowhere. Legolas briefly recalls his name; Luthrin.

"No," Legolas replies. "I, myself, am okay. This elf, however...give him the best care you can." He starts undoing the straps to his shoulder armor. "He saved my life and that of Tauriel's."

Eyes widening at the statement, Healer Galtara sets out to completely remove the makeshift bandages. Much like Legolas, he and Luthrin both gasp at the wound. The black veins coming from the wound are ugly and appear painful. There's pale green puss dripping down the wound. It's disgusting to look at.

"It appears someone tried to heal him," Luthrin mumbles as he brings over a bowl of hot water and a towel. Legolas watches silently as the two healers set about cleansing the wound. He watches as Healer Galtara dabs a well-known ointment on the wound before wrapping it up. It would cause the wound to drain its self of the poison. Legolas hesitates. Should he mention the magic casting the elf did? No such elf, if he can recall, can perform magic the way this elf did.

"He is unlike any elf I've come across," he finally states.

"How interesting," a smooth voice cuts in. Legolas immediately hops to his feet when his father sweeps into the room with Tauriel a few feet behind him. He gazes at the elf for a moment before looking at Legolas.

"Tauriel speaks of the elf being able to create fire out of nothing? How is that so?"

Legolas dips his head. "I am not sure, my lord. I do not recall the words he said. Just before the fire, he caused three spiders to explode."

The king merely hums in response before turning to Healer Galtara. "Will he survive beyond tonight?"

"Yes, m'lord. He will make a full recovery. Rather quickly, might I add"

"Is it true that he cannot speak elvish?" He looks back at Legolas, a perfectly groomed eyebrow raised.

"Yes, sir. We were taken back by his speech, in common, and he stated he didn't understand us when we spoke elvish."

"And you assumed he was telling the truth?"

Legolas averted his eyes, feeling somewhat foolish. "He gave no indication of lying, my lord." _He had also just saved my life._

King Thranduil hums again before turning towards the healers. "When he wakes up, have him fed and bathed. I will meet him after." Turning back to Legolas, he asks, "Are you well?"

Legolas bows his head. "Yes, sir." He can feel the eyes of his father sweep over him before accepting his answer.

"Return to your room and freshen up," he orders. "Tauriel, you will do the same."

"Yes, m'lord," they respond in unison.

With that, the king sweeps out of the room in silver robes and hair tossed over his shoulder.

"Best do as your father says," Healer Galtara says after a moment of silence. "We, Luthrin and I, will care for the elf."

Legolas nods and excuses himself. Tauriel follows soon after.

 _When will happiness return?_

 _A breath of fresh air._

 _For all is not well in this home,_

 _And I miss what it once was. [1]_

Legolas won't lie to himself. He wishes he were the one to retrieve the nameless elf for his father to speak with. However, the king ordered him to stay in his room and _rest a bit longer_. He appreciates the concern, truly, but he wishes his father wouldn't worry too much. He's been of age for over two millennia, but at times he feels like an elfing.

But Legolas feels inclined to not feel so angry when he hears the king's laughter break out across the halls high and low. It's a sound he hasn't heard in so long he had nearly forgotten what it sounded like. He looks on from a high standpoint at his father. This is, perhaps, the most relaxed he has seen him in centuries.

But what is more shocking is that the elf didn't want anything in return for saving a member of the royal family or a favored captain. No one, not even an elf, would pass up an opportunity to ask something of the king. Such an opportunity rarely, if ever, came. But this elf doesn't hesitate to say no. And what's more is that the elf has a name he does not wish to be called and allows the king to bestow him one. And Legolas must admit to himself that the name, Hathier, suits the elf.

He leaves when his father orders Tauriel to escort Hathier to a room in the right wing, a room near the royal family, and heads for the shooting range. He hopes that the king will send him to retrieve Hathier for the feast if only to gain a closer understanding of the elf.

 _Who are you really?_

 _Friend? Foe? A blessing in disguise?_

 _Will you return the happiness?_

 _Will you only cause more grief? [2]_

When a guard informs him that his father wants him to bring Hathier to the banquet hall, he gives his thanks and sets out for the room Tauriel led their guest too. The she-elf mentioned it to him in passing when she showed up to the shooting range with a bow in hand. They had spent a few hours discussing the elf, strategies regardings their dealings with the spiders, and merely shooting in silence.

When Tauriel tells him of Hathier's condolences regarding his mother, Legolas doesn't know how to reply. Mention of his mother is seen as a sort of taboo among them. No one openly discusses' the fallen queen when the possibility of the king or prince overhearing is high. His father didn't necessarily forbid anyone of speaking of her, but it's understood to be quiet about her.

He walks past a guard at the end of the hallway where Hathier's room is located, nods when the guard bows, and carries on to the door. He knocks once, twice, and receives no answer. He knocks again. Waits. Again, no answer. He hesitates. Should he just walk in? Perhaps Hathier is sleeping?

Resolving to walk in, Legolas grips the door handle and twists it to open the door. The first thing he notices is that the bed has been slept on. The sheets aren't pulled back, but rather Hathier slept on top of them. One of the pillows lays abandon on the floor. Legolas silently walks over to it, picks it up, and returns it back to its place on the bed.

When a gentle gust of wind carrying the scent of flowers wraps around the room, Legolas immediately realizes that Hathier is on the balcony. He walks over to it and pauses to look at the elf. Hathier looks content on the balcony, gazing out at the kingdom from so high up. There's a peaceful look on his face. He finds himself regretting taking Hathier away from this peace.

"It's a wonderful view, isn't it?" He calls out. His lips twitch into an almost smile when Hathier jumps. He smiles cheerfully when Hathier turns to look at him with a scowl.

"I know you're a prince, but even you should know not to enter someone's room without expressed, _vocal_ permission," he huffs in reply.

Legolas raises an eyebrow. "I did knock, but you didn't answer." He pauses before grinning. "You make for a very bad elf."

Hathier scowl deepens. "An elf this, an elf that. Will you continuously make fun of me?"

Legolas offers him a charming smile. "I've been sent to retrieve you," he replies innocently.

He gets an "okay" in response and Legolas watches, eyes playful, as the elf struggles to lace up his boots while cursing under his breath. Legolas can't help the laugh that escapes his mouth when Hathier realizes he missed a loophole and has to undo his laces. When all is done, Hathier stands up appearing triumph.

"Carry on," he waves his hand.

With a grin, Legolas opens the door and allows Hathier to walk out first. This elf is very amusing. Legolas leads him to the banquet hall, grinning with pride when the elf compliments the area, finding no problem to answer the elf's questions or comment on the founding of the kingdom. Something soft settles in his heart when Hathier makes the comment "When you take away the darkness, the spiders, and their nasty webs, I'm sure you can see the beauty of the forest."

Legolas must be truthful to himself. He misses the tranquility of the forest, being able to roam freely without concern for his safety. The darkness has been around since just before his mother's death. It is all consuming to those who fall to it. And this elf, this newcomer, can see past the darkness. It's an amazing feat. And one he appreciates. He says so and Hathier's reply has him smiling softly.

 _Can you forgive the intrusion?_

 _We are merely curious._

 _A creature such as yourself,_

 _Brings forth a story of one unlike we've heard._

 _Please, continue. [3]_

When Hathier flees the room, Legolas feels an overwhelming amount of guilt settle in his stomach. They had pushed too much. How is that fair to Hathier? This elf that freely gave them information about himself? And it's a lot to take in. A community of thousands and thousands of wizard? Such a thing is unheard of in Middle Earth. A Dark Lord trying to kill a child? Hathier was originally a wizard? He is a blessing sent from Valar? So much information and news and Legolas knows in his gut that Hathier is telling the truth.

And the prophecy...he saw the look in his father's eyes. The calculating look that appears when his father is trying to figure something out. What, Legolas doesn't know. He won't question him in front of everyone. When Hathier mentions horcruxes and immorality and murder, Legolas starts to feel a bit overwhelmed. A madman achieved immortality in the most disturbing, revolting way imaginable.

When Hathier mentions himself as a horcrux, Legolas is filled with a sense of dread. "You walked to your own death," he whispers not knowing what else to say. What could you say to that?

And the classification of magic and wizards, although a bit confusing to listen too, is rather interesting. And then Hathier flees the room when they discuss his parents, the traitor, and their murders.

"We pushed too far," Legolas states, looking at all of them and then eyeing his father as if to dare him to disagree.

"He said he would stop us," the king replies though he too appears somewhat guilty. "Allow him a few minutes peace. Tauriel, you will follow after him and ask him if he would like to return or go back to his room."

"He didn't eat much," Healer Galtara mumbles.

After a few minutes, the king flicks his wrist and Tauriel is out of her seat and out the door before Legolas can even blink. He sends a look towards his father, but the king avoids his eyes. Why?, Legolas isn't sure. Perhaps still feeling guilty? Legolas can't say he understood his father all the time.

When Tauriel brings Hathier back and he apologizes for leaving the hall so hastily, Legolas feels the urge to comfort him build. But what does shock him is that the king apologizes, solely, for upsetting Hathier. Legolas can hear the threat when his father replies to Hathier's request to stop speaking about his troubled past. But even so, they still end up creeping back into that painful territory. Learning of the basilisk is interesting enough.

And Legolas has to look away when his father makes a comment about the single elvish word Hathier knows regarding Middle Earth. Ennor is the preferred term among them all. Only scholars still use Endor and he tells Hathier so. Wandless magic is, by far, the most intriguing thing he has ever heard of in his entire existence and when he made the goblet float, Legolas was at a loss for words for a moment. When Hathier talks about his past and his memories, Legolas feels a deep connection to his words.

"I'm glad you've come to that realization," he says. "The past is the past. And while we must keep the past in mind, we shouldn't allow it to dictate our futures." He looks directly at his father. _Do you hear that? Do you understand what I'm saying?_

But he is ignored. Legolas resists the urge to roll his eyes. His father can be so stubborn at times, it can be maddening.

Then they learn more about Hogwarts and Legolas can't help but laugh about Hathier's hatred for spiders and inquires if there is a story to be told. They learn of the forest, or rather, a cave of spiders that Hathier and his friend _willingly_ walked into and nearly died. This just happening at the tender age of 12.

When the meal ends and the king leaves, Hathier requests to go to the library.

Who were they to deny him such a simple, and smart, request?

 _Move along down the road,_

 _Where do you stop?_

 _No one knows._

 _Just move along, move along. [4]_

When he and Tauriel escort Hathier back to his room, Legolas heads for the throne platform. He has an unexplainable urge to see his father. As he walks the pathway, he is greeted by the elves standing around and speaking. He catches glimpses of conversations about dinner - the floating goblet, a giant killer snake, willingly walking into a forest full of spiders - and does his best to ignore it. He could sense Hathier's discomfort at being the center of attention and tried to reassure that, for tonight at least, he wouldn't be bothered.

He comes to the throne in a matter of minutes and sees the king standing near the edge of the platform gazing out over his inner kingdom. Legolas stops next time and doesn't speak. From their high point, he can see elves walk in groups of three or four - some carrying scrolls, others with weapons, guards standing at the ready - and senses the distinct lack of tension in the air.

"You can feel it, too?"

Legolas blinks and turns to look at his father. When the king doesn't continue, Legolas replies softly. "If by 'it' you mean the increasing ease among us, then yes, sir, I can feel 'it.'" He receives a hum in response. "What do you think of Hathier?" Legolas asks after a moment.

"The most unique elf I've ever come across, but then," a secretive smile appears on the king's face, "he wasn't originally an elf."

"He is blessed by the Valar," Legolas replies. "Do we count this as a blessing for us as well?"

"I would like to think so. I have not," there's a pause, "seen you so comfortable before. Tell me. What is your opinion of him?"

Legolas looks over the edge of the throne's platform and thinks. He could give a simple answer with few words or a detailed explanation. Simplicity is best, but he gets the feeling that he won't so easily be let off the hook.

"He saved my life and Tauriel's. Therefore, he is a hero. He is a good storyteller and, therefore, an entertainer, despite his troubling and sad past. He is curious about us and our way of life, but willing to learn which makes him studious. He believes in helping others without personal gain. He does not like the overwhelming attention that comes with his life's happenings." Legolas finally looks at his father. "Something tells me that I can trust him with my life." He laughs, almost confused. "It is troubling, now that I think about it. Who would trust a stranger so easily?" He lowers his gaze. "I feel safe around him."

"The moment you brought him here, I know something had changed." The king moves to sit on his throne and, upon sitting, crosses one leg over the other. "Something in the air lifted. I saw it among the others. They were confused at first, but word of Hathier's arrival spread and his very presence is...comforting."

Legolas' lips form a small smile. "He made you laugh. I haven't heard you laugh like that since...I was an elfing."

The king opens his mouth to reply, but appears to change his mind. It's silent for a moment and then the king finally speaks. "I am glad you are okay. I could not bear it if," and he doesn't finish.

Legolas understands the rest and does not push. "I will retire for the night," he says instead.

His father nods. "Rest well."

He bows and walks away.

 _Look! Look! See the happiness he brings?_

 _Look! Look! He comes to fix your home!_

 _Look! Look! Watch as he cares for your treasure._

 _Not gold, but something worth much more. [5]_

Legolas takes it upon himself to retrieve Hathier for the morning meal. It's rather early, but he wishes to walk with the elf and ask how his readings went last night. He's headed for Hathier's room when a guard stops him. "He is not there, your highness!"

"When did he leave?" Legolas asks. "Did he say where he was going?"

"He left not but half an hour ago, my lord. He asked for a place to go and I informed of the queen's garden and sent him on his way."

Legolas nods slowly. He hadn't been to his mother's garden in so long he doesn't recall the layout or the flowers. He hurries towards the garden. Upon his arrival, he stops. Standing at the entrance of the garden is a group of elves. They are standing there silently gazing into the garden from the door. Some had gardening tools, others with plant food.

They seemed mesmerized.

Legolas moves closer and when he peers into the garden from the doorway he, too, froze on the spot. Hathier is standing next to a large white rose bush, clipping away while singing a song in a language Legolas didn't recognize. But what really sticks out is the floating garden tools that drift after Hathier as he moves on.

"Do we interrupt him, my lord?" A she-elf asks quietly.

He doesn't reply at first. Hathier looked so in his element. He stood out among the pale green and nearly white background of the garden. He looked stunning in a way Legolas didn't believe elves could.

Finally: "Move."

The group of elves split down the middle and allow him through. Legolas approaches Hathier silently, listening to the song despite not understanding. Hathier has a pretty singing voice, Legolas concludes. He moves to stand right next to the elf and grins when Hathier turns and jumps. Before he can say anything, Hathier holds up a finger and points it directly at his face. "Make a comment about how I'm bad at being an elf and I turn you into a toad."

Legolas grins. "Can you really do that?"

Hathier snorts. "Of course."

"You should do it."

"Maybe I should."

They stare at each other before Hathier's frown morphed into a smile and they're both laughing. Legolas looks back at the rose brush they're in front of and gently touches a delicate petal.

"I'm sorry," Hathier blurts out all of a sudden. "I used to work in my aunt's garden when I was younger. And I saw the tools and I, well, I just wanted...to help."

Legolas gazes at him, unblinking before returning to the flower. "This garden was a gift from my father to my mother when he found out she was with child. This was her most prized possession."

"It's beautiful," Hathier whispers. "The most beautiful garden I've ever seen. You can tell it is well loved."

"When my mother passed, I begged my father to keep it open to everyone. For many, it's the only remaining connection between them and their queen."

Hathier seems to hesitate for a moment.

"What is it?"

"And for you, your highness?" Hathier blushes before looking away. "I apologize. That was inappropriate of me to ask."

Legolas dips his hand under the top part of his tunic and pulls out a relatively long silver chain with a single silver ring on it. There's a large red ruby in the center of the ring surrounded by smaller rubies. He trails a thin finger along the chain and then looks at Hathier. The elf is looking at him once again. "This ring belonged to her. I asked my father for it as a reminder that she is always with me. I do not take it off."

"It's lovely," Hathier whispers in response.

"She was lovely."

"Will...you tell me about her?"

"It would be an honor," Legolas replies. He glances over his shoulder and motions for the elves by the doorway to leave. When they disperse, he plucks a pruner out of the air and gets work next to Hathier. "It is said that she was one of the most beautiful she-elves to live in Middle Earth..."

* * *

Edited - 8/15/2017

1, 2, 3, 4, & 5 - Lyrics I wrote myself.

If you have time, please review.

~SiriuslyFallingInLove


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter Six**

 _"I'm a mudblood! Mudblood, and proud of it! I've got no higher position under this new order than you have, Griphook! It was me they chose to torture, back at the Malfoys'!" - Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows_

"I remember being able to walk in the forest with her and my father. I was an elfing then, but full of curiosity. She inspired me to be more curious about the world around me. I think she inspired my father, too. We'd often find a way to pull him from his duties just to roam the forest. Father could never say no to her."

Hathier listens patiently while they moved along from rose bush to rose bush. They had to have been in the garden for at least an hour together. The prince is a fantastic story-teller, even if some moments seemed too hard to discuss. Hathier never pushes, though.

"And when we couldn't pull him away from his duties, she'd take me here and tell me stories. A lot of them were about my father, about how great of a warrior he is, about his ability to lead, and how I would take his place one day and rule the kingdom. At one point, I thought myself capable. But now? Not so much."

"Do you mind if I ask why?" Hathier asks softly.

"I lack the desire to stay in Mirkwood," the prince replies simply. "My father may have lost interest in the world outside of the kingdom, but I have not. I want to travel as far as I possibly can. I want to visit my friends in Rivendell and Lothlorien more often. I want to hunt orc and wargs and goblins and beyond. I want to explore the mountains all the way to Mordor and beyond. Such things cannot happen if I am king."

"Then why do you not do those things now?" Hathier inquiries, but he suspects he knows the answer already.

"My father does not wish me to strive too far from home," Prince Legolas states. "I remain here under his orders."

"I see."

The prince sighs. "He is fearful for my safety. The loss of my mother turned him...cold. It can be unnerving at times, but I know his heart is in the right place."

"It doesn't mean you have to agree with him. Parents or guardians, who love you, will do their best to keep you safe even if you don't want them to go to all the trouble. It can be...agitating at times. The confinement, the keeping of truth. We should be allowed to explore and grow. Make mistakes and mess up, knowing we have a place to go back to when things become difficult and when we need guidance or support."

"You seem to have thought about that for a while," the prince states quietly.

Hathier sighs and takes a step back to gaze at the rose bush thoughtfully.

"One of my mentors kept information from me that led to...problems. He kept me confined with this lack of knowledge and didn't let me leave my aunt's place no matter how much I begged him. It only made me angry, more reckless."

"Problems?"

Hathier doesn't return to the rose bush. Instead, he pivots and walks to the fountain and takes a seat on the edge. He gathers his hair, that is drifting in the wind from being put up, and starts messing with it.

"Information about the war, about the prophecy that led to my parent's death, about what the Ministry was doing, keeping my friends from writing to me, and more. It made me angry a lot. In my anger, I did reckless things."

Hathier thinks of Sirius with his laughing face as he falls backward into the veil. He remembers Remus grabbing a hold of him so he didn't follow after his godfather. He remembers chasing after Bellatrix and trying to cast the torture curse on her. It only worked for a moment and him, unapologetically, still wishes it worked fully on her. A part of him, he doesn't know how big, wished it was _him_ that killed her in the end.

He feels a hand on his shoulder and looks up into concerned pale-blue eyes. "I'm sorry," Prince Legolas states quietly. "The look in your eyes. It reminds me of the look I saw in my father's."

Hathier shrugs, gently easing the prince's hand off his shoulder. "What's done is done. I shouldn't - can't - allow myself to wallow in self-guilt. It would only consume me."

"It's what my father believes in, but he responded...differently," the prince looks away. "The moment we lost my mother, he changed. He closed off trade with other Elven establishments. Our borders are closed off to those not a part of our kingdom. There is still the occasional trade with the men of Dale, but nothing beyond that."

"He closed off his heart."

Prince Legolas nods. "He keeps everyone at arm's length."

Hathier hums. "Including you."

"I understand why he does it."

"But it doesn't stop the hurt of being pushed away."

The prince looks away, shoulders slumping just a bit.

"My honorary godfather, Remus, did the same thing for a while. Wouldn't talk to me or any of the Order. Remus knew Sirius since they were kids and losing him meant losing everyone Remus held dear from his childhood. As for me, losing Sirius was like losing half my soul. I only saw him a couple of weeks during the summer and winter holidays for two years. When he died...I pushed everyone away, doing to them what they did to me. Not replying to their letters. Closing myself off. It was how I coped with the lost." Hathier shrugs. "It didn't last long, mind you. I started school. I wanted to be around my friends. Then there was the war." Hathier starts to loosely braid the end of his hair. "Will you tell me of your friends outside of Gr - Mirkwood?" He does this in hopes of steering the conversation to something lighter.

"Aye," the prince responds. He finally takes a seat next to Hathier. "There is Elladan and Elrohir from Rivendell and Haldir, Rumil, and Orophin from Lorien. Elladan and Elrohir are the twin sons of Lord Elrond of Rivendell. They have a younger sister named Arwen Evenstar. They're both skilled warriors and hunters. Haldir, Rumil, and Orophin are also brothers. Haldir is the oldest followed by Orophin and then Rumil. All three are also skilled warriors. I have known Elladan and Elrohir the longest. We've known each other since we were elfings. Haldir and his brothers came along when I visited Rivendell for the Winter Solstice a long time ago."

Hathier snorts. "Elves live for a long time, so I'm told. When was the last time you saw them?"

"80 summers ago," the prince replies casually.

Hathier blinks once, twice. "Wait, what? That's too long!"

Prince Legolas hums. "It will seem long to you, but for an elf, it is but a blink of time." He receives a scowl for that comment and laughs.

"It will take me some time to adjust to all of this."

"You have a lot of time. More than you'll know what to do with."

"Do you -," Hathier starts, but a voice calls over him.

"I'm sorry to interrupt," Tauriel says as she walks over to them. "The morning meal has been served and you both have been requested by the king to join."

"An order disguised as a request," Prince Legolas mumbles with an eye-roll.

"Best not keep him waiting," Hathier replies. He starts undoing the semi-braid as he stands up. "I want to ask Galtara when my lessons of elvish will start anyway."

"Soon, I'm sure." It is Tauriel who says this. "Not many of the elves in Mirkwood speak the common language, but they do want to be able to communicate with you."

"And I, with them."

She nods. Hathier falls into step next to her and behind the prince. There is a comfortable silence around them as the prince leads them to the dining hall. Hathier tries to memorize the way to the place but is still very much confused by the layout. They arrive at the dining hall in about ten minutes and walk in to see the king in deep conversation with Galtara and a few elves Hathier doesn't recognize. Luthrin is nowhere in sight. They greet the king, who nods his greeting before returning to his conversation.

It's much smaller than the banquet hall. The table is lower, the chairs appearing much more comfortable, and the table isn't piled high with food. There is, of course, the throne-like chair at the head of the table. The bread Hathier fell in love with is stacked neatly in front of a chair on the left side of the table, two places from the king. Prince Legolas moves to take a seat in the chair next to his father on the left. Hathier sits next to him, in front of the pile of bread.

Tauriel bows deeply and turns to leave.

"You're not staying?" Hathier calls out.

The silence that follows is unnerving. Tauriel blinks, clearly surprised by the question. She darts her eyes to the king, who says nothing, and then offers Hathier a reserved smile.

"No. Not today, my lord."

Hathier blinks at the address, but nods. "Lunch, then."

She appears to hesitate once again, but Hathier pushes. "Please?"

Finally, she dips her head. "As you wish." And she's gone.

"Tauriel doesn't join us for morning meals," Prince Legolas states quietly as conversation picks up again.

"Is it inappropriate to ask why?"

"No, not necessarily. Her status is...lower than the others in this room. She is a captain, but only that."

"That's silly," mumbles Hathier.

He misses the prince's surprised look.

"Silly?"

"I remember being told she's a 'prized captain of the guard' and yet she can't dine with us? Where does she go? Does she eat in her room? Does she eat in the hallway?"

Hathier sees a perplexed look appear on the prince's face. "In all my years of knowing her, I never wondered about that. It's just...how things have been."

"Listen," Hathier touches his arm gently. "I'm not trying to step over the lines put in place by you or your father, but I consider Tauriel a friend, despite only knowing her for a small time, and I would like to split my mornings between all of you. I don't like it when my friends are left behind just because of status." Hathier thinks of Hermione. He would never allow anyone to treat her with such disrespect. He doesn't want Tauriel to be left behind over something so...silly. Or, at least, silly in his own head.

"It is not my place to tell you what to do. My father already gave you permission to do what you please, more or less, so if you wish to divide the morning meal between us and Tauriel, then that is your choice."

With that, breakfast carries on.

 _Good things come to those who wait,_

 _Even if they hesitate._

 _Friendship starts with simple words,_

 _And with these words, nothing blurs. [1]_

Galtara calls out to Hathier just as he's leaving the dining hall after everyone else is gone. Turning to the older elf, Hathier waits for him to speak. "We need to start working on your elvish."

"Oh," Hathier feels his face heat up. "I meant to ask you about that over breakfast, but I...uh, I forgot."

"I spent most of the morning speaking to King Thranduil, young one. Do not fret, but your lessons need to start soon."

"How soon would you like?"

"Today, if you have no plans."

"How about now?" Hathier asks, shifting from one foot to another.

Galtara blinks before smiling. "Now would be nice. I am free till mid-noon."

"Wonderful." Hathier steps back and waves Galtara after him so he can follow the elf to where the lessons will take place.

"Are you enjoying your stay so far?" Galtara as he moves to walk next to Hathier.

"It's beautiful here," Hathier replies immediately. "I still, uh, don't know my way around here very well, but I'll learn with time and that's fine."

"I'm glad you're not discouraged by the layout."

Hathier hums. "It's confusing at times, but I think I can understand why it's like that. From the throne platform, the king can see everything. Easier to command, I suspect."

"That is one reason."

They walk in silence for several minutes before Galtara asks another question. "Where were you this morning? If you don't mind me asking, I mean. Tauriel was sent for you, but you weren't in your room. And she could not find the prince either."

"Oh, well, I woke up early this morning and left my room. I know I have permission to roam the corridors, but I wanted to go somewhere specific. And while I do like your library, I don't always find pleasure in reading books. I asked the guard at the end of the hall for a suggestion on where to go and he directed me to the garden."

Galtara comes to a stop and looks at him in surprise. "You went to the queen's garden?"

Hathier frowns. "Was...I not allowed to? The guard said it was open to the public or something along those lines."

"No, no. It is. I just wasn't expecting you to stay in there so long."

"Why is that?"

"There are rumors associated with the garden. Rumors that suggest outsiders weren't welcomed because they may disrupt the peace or beauty. Some sort of forbidden magic done by our late queen. Guests will usually stumble upon it at one time or another, but none stay too long."

"I would never intentionally harm her garden. It is well-loved, that much is obvious. Though," a sort of sheepish smile appears on Hathier's face. "I did tend to it for a bit. I like gardening. It's one of those activities that keep the mind distracted. Besides, Prince Legolas showed up not long after I did and he started to help me."

"He did?" There's awe in Galtara's voice.

"He did."

"Forgive me, Hathier. It's a bit to take in. The prince doesn't usually visit the garden because of personal reasons. The king is very much the same."

"The memories associated with the garden," Hathier replies simply. "I am no stranger in avoiding things, people...places, that are loaded with painful memories. Sometimes, the distance helps. For both, but I assume more so for King Thranduil."

"And sometimes it makes the heart cold," Galtara mumbles, though it seems he didn't realize he said it out loud.

Hathier sighs. "It's clear how you all feel about the king."

Galtara's eyes snap to Hathier's face, something fierce in his eyes. "Do not mistake my tone or words as distaste or agitation. We love our king. We would die for our king. But loving him, willing to die for him, doesn't change that the fact that we are concerned for his well-being in terms of interactions with others."

Hathier takes a step back. He feels overwhelmed all of a sudden. "I didn't mean - I don't," Hathier sighs. "I meant no offense. I just mention that it's clear that you all find his stance cold or something close to that. I know you all care about him. I can see it in your eyes. I know he cares about all of you. I just mean," his shoulders slump. "I've not very good at this."

"I'm sorry." Galtara places a gentle hand on Hathier's arm while looking alarmed. "I'm sorry for becoming defensive."

Hathier nods. He can't seem to grasp the proper words. Galtara removes his hand and starts walking again. Hathier makes sure to keep a few steps behind him. They come upon a set of smaller doors, with the same beautiful detail carved into the wood, and Galtara opens them.

"This is where you're likely to find me if I'm not in the Healing House." He gestures to a seat in front of his desk while walking over to sit down behind it.

Hathier gingerly takes a seat, but he avoids eyes contact.

"Hathier, I truly am sorry. You are new...and _young_. You don't know the history aside from what you'll read in books or scrolls. King Thranduil's abrupt disconnect with nearly anything and everyone has caused problems as you might imagine. Elves from other settlements have come with requests or have come seeking answers. And not just elves, but the men and dwarves. As his Highness's people, we are loyal to him first and foremost. When the questions and concerns became too much, we became defensive. When a king is distressed and grieving, we are distressed and grieving."

"I understand," Hathier whispers. "But still, I didn't mean any harm."

Galtara leans forward in his seat. "You didn't do anything wrong. I snapped before allowing you to explain yourself. It is true that his heart has become cold and we thought we would never see him smile again...until recently."

Hathier blinks. "Recently?"

"I'm sure it has been mentioned to you by Tauriel or the prince, but you made the king _laugh_. Hathier, no one has heard the king laugh since the passing of his wife. _That was nearly three millennia ago_."

Disregarding the time, Hathier feels his face heat up. "It was just a laugh."

Galtara shakes his head. "It's more than that, Hathier. So much more than that. Everyone who heard was amazed to hear that. Some who weren't present have a hard time believing it happened. It's one of the reasons why many elves are pressing that you learn elvish so they can ask you how you did it and to say thank you."

"Prince Legolas mentioned that not many elves no common tongue. But even so, they don't need to thank me. I'm glad it did some good if it matters so much."

"Regardless, you will need to learn elvish because you are an elf and I do not suspect that the only elves you'll meet will only be from Mirkwood."

"Okay. I'm ready."

Galtara nods. "We'll start with basic greetings and simple sentences. If you find yourself not understanding, don't hesitate to stop me and ask me to use a different example or expand the definition."

Hathier nods.

"Then let us begin."

 _Practice makes perfect,_

 _Word choice and understanding._

 _Do I mean the language?_

 _Or what he experiences? [2]_

The sun is high in the sky when Galtara calls for the end of the lesson. Hathier is grateful because his head is about to explode from the history associated with the language, the way words sound so similar with only accents setting them apart, and his constant stumble over even the simplest phrases. During the whole process, Galtara spoke and wrote at the same time. A feat that greatly impresses Hathier.

"Here is a list of the phrases and words we went over. I have written them in elvish and in common tongue with the way to pronounce them written underneath. Go over them until our next meeting. I will quiz you next time we meet."

Hathier takes the offered paper and glances over it. "When will our next meeting be?"

"Two days from now. That gives you enough time to go over the list while still allowing you the freedom to roam the kingdom and to spend time in the library reading up on the history of Middle Earth."

"Thank you. And about earlier..."

Galtara raises his hand and shakes his head. "The fault solely rests with me. I shouldn't have reacted the way I did. Lunch should be served by now. Off you go."

Seeing no point in arguing and feeling rather hungry, Hathier simply nods and stands up. "Will I see you at dinner?"

"Perhaps. Luthrin was in charge of the Healing House today and I need to check up on him. If there have been...mishaps, then I need to correct them while guiding him properly."

"Give him my regards, please?"

"Of course."

"I hope the rest of your day goes by peacefully," Hathier says while making his well to the door.

"And for you, as well."

Hathier leaves the room and closes the door. When he turns around, he jumps. Tauriel is standing a mere foot away from him and she's grinning. Up close, he sees the yellow specs in her eyes. They're really pretty.

"What is with you and the prince trying to kill me via heart attack?" Hathier exclaims.

"You're an elf. You would not die of a heart attack."

Hathier scowls. "That's beside the point, Tauriel. I don't know how to hone in on my abilities of being completely aware of my surroundings. I haven't been an elf for very long, remember?"

"Forgive me, my lord." She does a sweeping bow and takes a step back. "I didn't mean to frighten you."

"You're a terrible friend."

Something flashes across Tauriel's eyes, something Hathier doesn't recognize, but she keeps smiling.

"You should learn to keep your guard up."

"That's only necessary when I don't feel safe or I'm uncomfortable." _I don't always want to be on my guard. I spent years doing that. I just want to relax._

"And you feel safe here?"

Hathier nods while tucking his paper away. "I haven't been given a reason to not feel safe." _Yet_.

Tauriel hums. "Are you ready for lunch?"

"Yes, please."

Tauriel laughs at his enthusiasm. She places a hand on the low of his back and gently guides him along the pathway back to the dining hall. During the course, Hathier questions her on her day so far and finds out that she spent breakfast in her own quarters before joining the prince at the shooting range. When that came up, she had no problem mentioning that she outshot the prince by three arrows. But admits soon after, sheepishly, that she did sort of cheat.

Hathier laughs at this. When she inquired about his first lesson, Hathier explains that he stumbled over the words and how it frustrates him because "I'm an elf and elves speak elvish and _why can't I learn it easily_ " which resulted in Tauriel smirking at him and telling him to keep up the good work. Hathier only scowls.

"We are here," Tauriel states.

Looking into the dining hall, he sees no one.

"Are we late?" Hathier asks.

"No. Lunch is usually few in numbers. Typically involving those who walk in to grab something to eat on the go and then return to their work."

"Well, I'm glad you are joining me."

"Tis' an honor."

Hathier only rolls his eyes at her playful reply. He sits in a chair at the center of the left side of the table and Tauriel sits next to them. There are a few plates to pick from. Each with an assortment of fruits, meats, bread with jam, and a couple of jugs of water and wine. He doesn't waste time picking up a slice of flaky honey bread and shove it halfway into his mouth.

"You seem keen on the honey bread."

Swallowing, Hathier nods. "It's the best damn thing I've eaten in a long while."

"Do you find yourself trying the wine now?"

Hathier tilts his head at the jug of wine before shaking his head. "No, not today."

"If you say so," Tauriel replies while pouring herself a hefty glass and downing it in one swing.

"I guess you like it a lot!"

"You will learn," Tauriel begins as she pours herself another glass, "that the elves of Mirkwood value wine much like dwarves value gold."

"Can elves get drunk?" Hathier can't help but ask.

"If they consume too much, yes. Elves can drink large amounts of wine before becoming effected. But here in Mirkwood, they mostly just fall into a drunken sleep."

"Fall asleep?"

Tauriel smirks. "If you were to walk into the wine cellar four levels under the throne platform at midday, you'll come across a group of sleeping elves at the center table inside. They are supposed to be keeping track on the wine since the king enjoys it, but they often...help themselves. And that results in drunk, but sleepy elves."

Hathier's lips twitch into an almost smile. "Those poor elves."

"When the king finds out, they will be prime examples of 'poor elves.'"

At this, Hathier laughs. "Poor elves, indeed."

"What do you plan to do after lunch?"

Hathier pours himself a glass of ice water. "Finish up reading the books I borrowed from the library and then return them. Borrow new books and start reading them. Maybe stumble my way back to the garden to finish what I started this morning before the prince started helping."

"By now, what you didn't do will have been finished by the elves assigned to the garden."

"Oh."

"You can still return to the garden," Tauriel is quick to say. "It is a beautiful place to be in."

"Despite the rumors of unknown guests not being welcomed or whathaveyou?"

Tauriel blinks, unfazed by the question. "If the garden deemed you a threat, you wouldn't have been allowed to step foot inside of it. It is not a rumor. The queen viewed the garden as a great treasure and wished no harm came to it. Her magic was pure and it still exists. Those will ill intent would not be allowed inside."

"I would never do anything to harm the garden. I find it to be very beautiful and I find myself at peace when I'm inside."

"I'm glad."

"Since the gardening will be done, will you take me to the shooting range instead? I mean, if you're free. I still need to return the books I borrowed, but I don't have to take any more for now. I would like to observe the shooting range though."

"Perhaps you'll learn your way around a bow?"

"I imagine I'll be very bad at it."

"Even if you are bad, you merely need to practice."

"Is that an offer?"

"I imagine I won't be the only one offering to teach you."

Hathier grins. "I've never shot an arrow before and I only held a sword once."

"You'll learn." Tauriel smiles.

"Well, then. Hook, line, and sinker. I'm ready to learn." He grins at her confused face. "It's just an expression. Basically, it means you have my interest enough that I want to learn."

"You have strange expressions."

"You're no better!"

They stare at each other before breaking out into laughter.

* * *

Edited - 8/21/2017

1 & 2 - I wrote the lyrics.

If you have the time, please review.

~i-just-really-like-sakura


	10. Chapter 10

**Chapter Seven**

 _I've found it is small things, everyday deeds of ordinary folk, that keeps the darkness at bay. Simple acts of kindness and love. Why Bilbo Baggins? Perhaps it is because I am afraid, and he gives me courage. - The Hobbit_

Lessons with Galtara continue as they do. There is no mention of the brief tense conversation between themselves or the other elves. Hathier continues to join Tauriel for lunch every other day and he speaks to Andromeda in the quiet of his room late at night. Seeing Teddy eases his heart. Hearing about the Weasleys puts a smile on his face. The days go by quicker than he realizes.

For a time, everything seems to be at peace.

Hathier doesn't realize how much time has gone by until Andromeda informs him that Teddy is turning one soon. And with that, the realization that the one-year anniversary of the Battle of Hogwarts is approaching. Scenes of the battle plague his mind when he wonders around late at night. Many elves gaze from a distance as he walks around the kingdom aimlessly, appearing restless in his unknown pursuit of satisfaction. Or so they assume. Hathier cannot help it when his mind drifts.

It's not until Prince Legolas comes upon him one late evening that answers are finally given. "You have not been yourself recently," the prince starts off seemingly casual.

Hathier averts his gaze to look out at the kingdom within the safety of high golden walls and thick tree branches. They, the prince and himself, have been sitting together for the last half hour in silent comfort until the question came forth. "I haven't noticed." Hathier shrugs along with his reply.

It only serves to make Prince Legolas frown. "Something is on your mind."

Hathier bites back a sarcastic reply. Instead, he's much nicer. "How long would you say I've been in G - Mirkwood?" He smiles slightly when a thoughtful look overtakes the Prince's face.

"Nearly a year. That doesn't include that time you were here before you stumbled your way across Tauriel and me."

Hathier hums, not reacting much to the time given. _What's a year to an elf anyway?_ It had gone by in the blink of an eye it seems. "I found you both the same day I appeared in Middle Earth." Then his shoulders slump. "Nearly a year since I've been here and almost an entire year passes from my previous world. It's nice to know the times are matching up pretty well."

"How would you know that? Are you still connected to your old world?"

Biting his lip, Hathier thinks about Andromeda and Teddy. It's about three weeks until Teddy's birthday and Hathier really wants to be there to celebrate it. But would they be in any danger if he mentioned them to the prince? There is no way anyone from this world will be able to travel to his old one. They and the others would be safe.

"I still talk to a couple of my family members."

Prince Legolas frowns. "Forgive me, but I thought you said your family died."

Hathier offers him a rueful smile. "Family isn't defined by blood. It's who you choose to love."

A thoughtful look overtakes the prince's face before he nods slowly. "I have to agree with that." He looks around before leaning in. Hathier also leans in. "I view Tauriel as a sister. There was...something there before but lately, it's been different. We've known each other since she was an elfing. My friends in Rivendell and Lorien, I consider family. Brothers. I grew up an only child and when you lose your mother and father, it can be lonely."

Hathier makes no comment on the prince 'losing' his father. He knows what that means. Instead, he replies with the following: "If, and when, you decide to visit your friends please let me come with you."

"Tiring of Mirkwood already?" Prince Legolas asks with a grin.

"What?!" Hathier blinks rapidly. "Of course not! Mirkwood is my home!"

He fails to see the soft smile grace the prince's face briefly before being replaced by a mischievous one. "Well, you certainly can't leave without knowing how to properly defend yourself."

"I set fire to a group of spiders to save your's and Tauriel's life. I think I can handle myself." The deadpan voice nearly has the prince fall over himself to keep himself from laughing.

"Ah, yes. But you were also poisoned some time previous to our first encounter."

Hathier scowls. "Okay, well, that was because of the orcs. Nasty creatures. They wanted to cook me and eat me. Is that normal?"

The prince snorts while gracefully tossing his hair over his shoulder. "For orcs? Unfortunately. They'll eat anything that fights back."

"Unfortunate, indeed."

"But can we return to our previous conversation?"

"Okay." Hathier sighs. "I miss my friends. The ones who survived. The ones I left behind." When the prince says nothing, Hathier continues. "I try not to wallow in my self-pity, but sometimes the guilt can be overwhelming. And with the anniversary of the war just around the corner, I would like nothing more than to just go back - briefly, mind you - and apologize for leaving the way I did."

"You possess magic," Prince Legolas says slowly. "Is going back something you are incapable of doing?"

Hathier blinks. "I didn't bring myself here, your highness. Elbereth Gilthoniel brought me here. As far as I'm concerned, she's the only one who can send me back. I could probably ask her to take me back for the anniversary..."

"You are...in contact with her?"

"She comes to me in my dreams a lot."

"Does she?"

"Yes. She's a bit like an overbearing mother. Always concerned about my well-being." He looks at the prince who appears to not know what to do with that piece of information.

"If you go back...would you want to stay?"

"No." Hathier leans over the edge just a bit to look down at the elves walking about with some important task or another. "Hogwarts was my home for so long, but...this is my home now. If you let me stay, that is."

"Of course. We would be sad to lose you."

He receives a smile. "I'm glad to hear that."

They sit there for a while; enjoying the comfortable silence around them. If any of the elves below notice them, they don't react. It stays like that until the prince breaks the silence with the following question: "Would we be able to go with you if you went back?"

"Curious about my former home?"

Prince Legolas smiles sheepishly. "Can you blame me? We're all curious about a community full of wizards."

"And witches."

"And witches." The prince replies.

"Perhaps. I don't want to get your hopes up, but I can ask."

"It's not of utmost importance. But if you are planning to leave for a bit, please let us know."

"There you both are!" Both heads snapped to the right to see Tauriel sliding down a thin branch high above them to land behind them. The space around them isn't very big from their place up so high, but it's not exactly uncomfortable to have someone else show up.

"Good evening, Tauriel." Out of the corner of his eye, Hathier can see the prince nod in greeting towards the she-elf.

"Why are you hiding up here?" She directs this question towards Hathier who shrugs.

"I was moping around in self-pity and the prince found me up here."

"How did you manage to get up here?"

"There is a good question. Your balance isn't...perfect yet."

Hathier rolls his eyes at the word choice. "Just say I'm a bad elf and move on." The grin he gets makes him want to push Prince Legolas over the edge. But the prince being the prince, he would probably do some really cool, over the top moves before landing perfectly. "Anyway, I apparated up here."

He misses the confused look shared between his companions as he looks out over the edge again.

"What is app-rating?" Tauriel asks as she moves to seat on the other side of Hathier after he makes room for her. All three are now sitting pressed shoulder-to-shoulder with their legs dangling over the ledge.

"Apparating is a form of traveling, but specifically teleportation."

"You teleported up here?" Tauriel asks. "That is possible?"

"Apparently. I wasn't sure it would work given that I'm no longer a wizard but decided to try. I almost died," he ends casually.

"How?" Prince Legolas asks this time.

"I nearly tipped over the edge. I didn't think it would work. I could have been splinched, too."

"Splinched?"

"Be hurt severely. Maybe lose an arm. Or leg. Maybe die. It all depends. You have to be completely focused on your destination."

"This is one of the highest places in the palace and you still attempted it?! You could have been hurt or worse!" Tauriel snaps. "Why would you risk it?!"

"I just wanted a place that's quiet. A place someone couldn't easily find. My head has been a mess lately."

"We're your friends, Hathier. We have all seen the shift in your mood and we care about you."

"I don't like being a bother."

"You're not a bother," they both say in unison and for a brief moment, Hathier remembers the twins.

"I miss my old home and I want to see my friends and my godson and his grandmother. I want to know how everyone is doing in person and through the mirror." Hathier stops. He's said too much.

"A mirror?"

He hesitates before nodding. "A two-way mirror. My godson's grandmother has the other one. She gives me updates on how everyone is doing. It also gives me the opportunity to be part of my godson's life."

"What is a...godson? You are not the boy's blood father?"

Hathier shakes his head. "His blood father asked me to be his godfather just before the final battle started and I said yes. A godfather's duty is to watch after their godchild if something happens to the parents."

"Then why is he there and not here with you?" It's a reasonable question, but Hathier can't fight the flinch.

"Both his parents died in the battle leaving him and his grandmother behind. I couldn't take him. He's all Andromeda has left of her immediate family." Hathier doesn't mention the Malfoys. He knows the relationship between Andromeda and Narcissa Malfoy is very strained.

"Andromeda is the name of his grandmother?" Hathier nods. "It's a unique name, but I like the sound of it."

 _Your name is Legolas_ , Hathier thinks. _Talk about unique._

"This mirror lets you speak to her? What kind of magic is that?"

"Communication magic. Like speaking through fire or portraits. Along those lines."

"Speaking through fire? How is that possible?"

"I couldn't tell you since I'm not really sure myself, but it's possible and kind of neat." Hathier recalls his fourth year where Sirius spoke to him through the fire regarding the Triwizard Tournament and again in fifth year regarding Umbridge. Neither call was pleasant but both necessary. It wasn't a social call.

"How does your magic work?" Prince Legolas asks. "You can do...wandless, but what can you do with a wand? What does your wand look like? How big is it?"

"My original wand was a little smaller than a foot, made with holly, and possessed a phoenix core. It was said to be unusual and it was the brother wand to the Dark Lord of my world."

"The brother wand?" Tauriel asks. "What does that mean?"

"It means my wand came from the same exact materials as Voldemort's wand. Voldemort, the Dark Lord."

"Oh, I see."

"You said _original_. The one you have now is new?"

"No. It's rather old, but I have possession of it now. My original wand was destroyed in the final duel against Voldemort. My wand now, known in my old world as the elder wand, is much more powerful."

"How is it so powerful?" Prince Legolas inquiries. "What makes it so powerful?"

"It boils down to the simple fact that Death foraged the wand himself."

"Death?"

"Death. Actual Death. The being Death. Whatever you want to him it."

"Why did...Death forage such a powerful wand."

"He was tricked by three brothers and as a reward for being able to pass one over on Death, he allowed the three brothers to request one thing they truly desired. One of the brothers asked for a wand to beat all wands. Death granted his wish. Unfortunately for the man, he was too prideful and was eventually murdered and the wand stolen. It passed on over the centuries and eventually came into my possession."

"I see...and what of the other two brothers?"

"The resurrection stone and the cloak of invisibility. I think they're easier to understand. One can bring back, or call forth, deceased loved ones or the dead in general. The other can literally hide you if you're wearing it."

"What happen to them?"

Hathier smiles sadly at Tauriel. "The stone is currently lost. I wish I had it on me. And I own the cloak. If you're interested in seeing the wand and cloak, just catch me in my room sometime when I'm not asleep." He gets two nods in return.

"Will you tell us more about the school you went too? I'm still very much curious about it."

"Of course."

 _I'm growing tide of hiding,_

 _I want to go home._

 _But my heart is torn,_

 _To which home do I go? [1]_

When Tauriel starts talking about archery lessons, Hathier feels himself buzz with excitement. It's been a mere few days since his conversation with Tauriel and the prince high on the ledge overlooking Mirkwood late in the evening. He knows this is her way to keep his mind busy as the anniversary of the final battle draws near in his former world.

Neither Prince Legolas nor Tauriel asks about the cloak or wand or his mirror since then. He believes they are giving him space. It seems they also relayed some sort of message to the surrounding elves because they aren't coming so close anymore, the questions (the few he is starting to understand given his lessons in elvish) have dwindled, and those he's come to call friends (and mentors) appear more gentle in their conversations.

In the meantime, Hathier has hardly seen the king. He doesn't appear at dinner most nights. He's never in the library nor the garden.

The garden...

Hathier shakes his head. Rumors have spread around Mirkwood about his little adventure in the late queen's garden. According to Galtara, his gentle caring for their beloved queen's garden has calmed the wary hearts of the elves. That is good, but the king has yet to confront him about it in any manner. He tries not to push, but he's curious about the king.

Remembering the prince mentioning the strain between himself and his father, he goes to Galtara with his question. "He would not appreciate me saying this, but he does not know how to act around you."

"I don't...understand."

"You're a foreigner outside Middle Earth. You're blessed by the Valar. You can perform magic beyond what our own wizards are capable of. You used to be a wizard. There's so much to you we don't know."

"I've told you all a lot about me. And you're free to ask questions." Hathier sighs. "Is this why he is avoiding me?"

Galtara blinks and then laughs. Hathier feels his face heating up.

"The king has been in several meetings with the Men of Dale and dwarves of Erebor over the last two weeks."

Curiosity obtained, Hathier leans forward. "Men of Dale? And dwarves?"

Galtara smiles. "Yes. Mirkwood has two neighboring settlements. Dale is known for its thriving market. Races all over travel to Dale for it."

"Sounds nice."

"It is."

"And the dwarves?"

"Rowdy, but good in their place of work. And many fine gems come from the mountain."

"Sounds nice." Hathier bites his lip as a thought occurs. "Can...I go see them?"

"I don't see why not. You shouldn't need to ask."

"I wouldn't know where to go. I'd need a guide."

Galtara hums. "This is true." Then he grins playfully. "Bored with Mirkwood already, young one?"

"Of course not! I just, you know, don't want to make anyone uncomfortable." Hathier runs a hand through his hair. "Well, more uncomfortable than I already have. The king included. You know, by asking..."

"I see. Well, I happen to be heading to Dale this day next week. At dawn. You're welcomed to join me."

Eyes going wide, Hathier nods enthusiastically. "Yes, please."

Galtara shakes his head while smiling. "It would do you some good if you began traveling just a bit. Mirkwood is but one place of many in Middle Earth. There's so much more to explore." Hathier recalls his conversation with Prince Legolas in the garden just a while back. The elf no longer wanted to be king. He wanted to travel beyond his homeland. Maybe they could travel together one day with Tauriel? Hathier can only hope.

"I will speak to the king, Hathier. I doubt he'll deny you if you ask."

"I would appreciate that. Thank you."

Their conversation is interrupted when someone calls out to Hathier. "Hathier! It's time for your first lesson in archery!" It's Tauriel and from the distance, Hathier can see the excitement on her face.

"Oh!" Galtara exclaims surprised. "You're going to take lessons?"

"Yes. The prince mentioned something about a proper elf needing to know how to defend themselves."

Galtara nods. "It is a good idea. Your magic will only get you so far." Hathier agrees even though he doesn't admit it out loud. "Change into something more light-weight, something that can be discarded easily."

Hathier looks down at his nice clothes; royal blue with silver stitching. "I have a green set in my closet," he mumbles to himself.

"That will work," Tauriel states as she comes to stand next to him. "Do you need help finding your room?"

Hathier rolls his eyes. "Very funny, Tauriel. I can find it on my own."

She grins. "Good. I shall be with you shortly. There's something I need to briefly discuss with Galtara."

Waving her off, he says good-bye to Galtara and heads for his room.

 _One lesson turns into many,_

 _Always going on and on._

 _Progress instead of perfection,_

 _For no one is perfect. [2]_

Just as she said, Tauriel meets him outside of his room. They walk in companionable silence towards the archery range. On their way there, Hathier notices the surrounding elves sending them, specifically him, varying looks of amusement and concern. He's well-aware of the two bows Tauriel is carrying. Some are probably wondering why he, a magic user, would be learning archery. Well, he figures this would lessen the chances of him falling prey to orc arrows again.

And it could be fun.

When they arrive at their targeted destination, Tauriel thrusts one of the bows to Hathier with a smile and motions to the prince who is standing with three other elves. All are wearing a lesser form of their usual attire. The clothing appears lighter to help with better movement. At least, this is what Hathier assumes.

He and Tauriel walk over to greet the other elves. Just like the prince, they are all tall with varying shades of blond hair and blue eyes. Greetings proceed and then Hathier stands off to the side to watch as all five line up several yards away from the target. One-by-one, each notch an arrow and line up their shots. Hathier watches in utter amazement as each arrow, upon their release, hits a target dead center.

This happens for a couple of rounds until Prince Legolas lowers his bow, the others following him, and motions for Hathier to come forward.

"I'll teach you how to properly hold and shoot an arrow." He slides his seemingly full quiver off his shoulder and hands it to Hathier who puts it on. "Grab an arrow." Hathier obeys. "Raise your bow." Hathier's arms tense as he sets up his bow and lines up the arrow. "Relax."

"Easy for you to say. You've been during this for a long time."

Prince Legolas chuckles. "Adjust your arrow slightly." Hathier does. "Look at the target." Hathier looks. "Line up your arrow." Hathier listens. "Trace the arrow with a barely there touch to pull back the string and when you are ready, release it."

Hathier focuses on the center of the target resting several yards away in front of him. He does what he is told, breathing in, and releases the arrow, breathing out. It lands with a soft 'thwack' half a foot from the center.

"That was very good for your first time," Tauriel praises.

"Agreed." Hathier looks at the prince who beams with pride. "My father was wrong. I make an excellent teacher."

"The king thought you'd make a bad teacher?"

"He implied it. I wasn't the best when I was younger."

"But practice makes perfect."

Prince Legolas nods, smile bright. "And when you are as good as the rest of us, you must continue every now and then to keep your skills sharp." He grins. "And now you will continue doing this for the next several hours."

Hathier blinks. "What?"

Tauriel nods. "You need to hit the target."

"That was my first try!"

"Then keep trying until you hit it!" Tauriel laughs.

Shaking his head, Hathier notches another arrow and aims. Remembering the prince's orders of breathing, he pulls back the string and lets it sail. His shoulders slump when it ends up further away from his first arrow.

"And this is why you practice," Prince Legolas states while adjusting the strap of Hathier's quiver.

"This is going to take forever."

"It's a good thing we elves have forever," Tauriel replies, eyes sparkling with amusement.

Hathier sighs. "Okay, I'll do this until sunset and then we stop and I pick it up again tomorrow."

"Fair enough."

Grabbing another arrow, Hathier looks at the target with narrow eyes. He's determined to hit the center at least once before sunset.

 _What is true perfection?_

 _An unobtainable goal._

 _Which is why you practice and practice,_

 _To get close to that goal. [3]_

For nearly two hours, Hathier continues to try and hit the target. Even the three other elves that have been there since his arrival has abandoned their own shooting to offer tips and advice. But nothing came of it. He simply could not hit a single center. When the second to last arrow is fired and misses, Hathier throws his hands up into the air.

"This is hopeless. I can't do it. I quite." Turning to face the other elves. "Let's do something else, please."

"You're working yourself up, Hathier. You just need to -" Hathier cuts Tauriel off.

"Keep practicing, I know. But this," he waves to the trees and the targets, "is clearly not something I'll be good at for a while."

"Which is why you don't give up and keep practicing." Hathier hears the prince's words but doesn't acknowledge them. Rude? Yes. Does he care at the moment? No. Two hours is a long time to be trying to hit a single, non-moving target. He glares at the bow in his hand. What is he doing wrong?! Why won't the arrow just hit the damn target?!

"Hathier, calm down!"

"Hathier, please calm down!"

"Drop the bow!"

Voices.

Drop the bow?

Hathier blinks and looks at his bow. It's on fire. Eyes going wide, Hathier immediately drops the bow and Tauriel kicks dirt on it to put out the fire.

"What just happened?" Hathier asks slowly.

"It just...caught on fire," one of the elves states.

Looking at him, Hathier takes in the unease. His eyes shift from one elf to another. Even Prince Legolas and Tauriel appear on guard. "I'm sorry! I just - I'm really sorry!" Hathier turns away from all of them swiftly and power walks away.

"Hathier!" Someone, probably Tauriel, calls out to him but Hathier ignores it. When he determines himself far enough away, he apparates to his room and flops onto his bed and stares at the ceiling.

"Did I really lose control over my magic?" _Over something so little?_

Rolling over, he gazes at the wall. When Tauriel comes knocking with an inquiry about dinner, Hathier doesn't reply. He isn't disturbed for the rest of the evening. Left alone, Hathier thinks of Teddy and Andromeda. He recalls Andromeda informing him of Teddy's birthday in three weeks their time, almost four weeks his time. He wants to travel to Dale with Galtara. Maybe he can pick something up for Teddy as a present in the markets of Dale? Maybe he can bring something for Andromeda and the others? With those thoughts, he falls into an uneasy sleep.

* * *

Edited - 8/30/2017

1, 2, & 3 - I wrote the lyrics.

If you have the time, please review.

~i-just-really-like-sakura


	11. Chapter 11

**Chapter Eight**

 _"To have been loved so deeply, even though the person who loved us is gone, will give us some protection forever." ~ Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire_

For three days, Hathier doesn't see much of Tauriel and Prince Legolas. He continues to leave his room for his meals, to attend his lessons in elvish, and to visit the garden. It seemed the two elves are avoiding him. He doesn't see them during the meals nor has there been a word of archery lessons. News of the failed lesson traveled fast because he is once again under the wary and uncertain gaze of the other elves. In some cases, he enters a room and many are quick to leave. Only Galtara and Luthrin actively seek his company and for that, Hathier is thankful.

"Are you well?"

Hathier blinks before turning to Luthrin who has his head tilted, long sunflower blond hair falling over his shoulder, as he waits patiently.

"As well as I can be," Hathier replies.

"That is a seemly vague answer." Luthrin moves a little closer. "A flower for your thoughts?" He holds out a small white daisy. Hathier laughs, just a bit, and accepts the offering. He places it behind his ear.

"I have a few things on my mind. The anniversary of the battle from my previous world and the failed attempt at hitting a center with an arrow. My self-esteem is not very high right now."

"Archery isn't for everyone," Luthrin replies with a gentle smile. "I'm not much of an archer myself. It's why I choose medicine. I know the basics necessary for battle. In other words, surviving." He turns his focus to the flower bed in front of him. "As for your previous world...is there no way you can go back?"

"I'm pretty sure I can," Hathier replies. "I just have to...ask, it seems."

Luthrin hums softly. "I hope that you can." It seems that is all he has to say.

Hathier blinks. He was expecting more than that. "You're not curious about my world?"

"Oh, I am. Very much so, but I also know that you've been asked by others about the possibility of going with you? I do not wish to increase the stress."

"Oh, okay. I guess that makes sense."

"Galtara mentioned that you would be traveling to Dale with him in a few days?"

Hathier nods, smiling just a bit. "Yes. It'll give me a chance to experience places outside of Mirkwood."

"Becoming tired of our kingdom already, Hathier?"

Just as he's about to deny that statement, Hathier catches a glimpse of Luthrin's knowing smile and scowls. "It's not nice to tease someone in distress."

"You are right," Luthrin replies quickly. "I was merely attempting to lighten the mood."

"If that what you all think? At some point or another?"

"That we believe you want to leave?" Luthrin dusts his clothes of dirt and stands up. "There is some talk, I won't lie. Some of the elves don't know how to approach at times. We are curious, but cautious creatures. And we are sensitive to the aura of one another. You've been uncomfortable and unhappy for a while now. We can sense this."

"I don't mean to," Hathier says softly. "I can't help what I feel."

"No one is faulting you for it, Hathier. I most certainly am not. We are, however, concerned." When Hathier doesn't reply, Luthrin continues. "You're a particular kind of elf. There's never been a case of a wizard transforming into an elf. Your needs seem different and we - the royal family, Tauriel, Galata, and I - don't know how to help you."

"You're helping now."

Luthrin blinks. "Am I? How so?"

Hathier waves his hand around them. "We're working on the garden. It's a familiar activity to me and you've been good company. You don't push or act strangely with me. We can go long periods without speaking and it doesn't change the atmosphere."

"That helps you?"

"It helps me a lot. The normalcy helps me. I am comfortable around you." Hathier blinks at the slight flush that adorns Luthrin's cheeks. "Are you okay?"

Luthrin politely coughs into a closed fist. "I am well."

"Should we take a break?"

"Becoming tired already?" Luthrin asks while grinning.

Hathier snorts. "I could do this in my sleep." He places his tools down and gets up. "But I am a little hungry. Can we get a snack?"

Luthrin glances around the garden before nodding. "Let's stop for the day. It has probably passed lunch by now, but I'm sure the cook will make you something if he's in. Many elves walk in and out of the kitchen throughout the day."

For a brief moment, Harry recalls the house elves in the kitchens of Hogwarts. He has traveled down to the kitchens a few times with Ron when they've missed dinner and woke up hungry. The house elves were more than happy to whip up some treats and tea for them.

"What causes that smile?"

Hathier blinks. "I'm sorry?"

Luthrin laughs politely behind a hand. "You're smiling. It's carefree. I don't recall the last time you smiled like that."

Hathier feels his face go warm. "I was just remembering something from my old world." He only receives a kind smile. "Let's go to the kitchen. I want bread."

"Do you need me to lead?" Luthrin asks.

Huffing, Hathier moves ahead of him. "Of course not! I know my way around here now!"

Luthrin chuckles. "Of course, of course. Please lead the way."

The walk is done in silence, but neither feel uncomfortable. Hathier smiles to himself when they enter the kitchen to find it empty. On the table is a fresh stack of bread and two ice water pitchers.

"Thank goodness."

Luthrin laughs outright. "You and that bread? It's all any of us ever see you eat!"

Hathier takes the whole plate and sits down on the edge of the table without a care and starts picking at the bread, happily chews on pieces of varying sizes. "It's just so good." He snaps his attention to Luthrin who is pouring them both a goblet of ice water. "Do you want any?" At Luthrin's head shake, Hathier polishes off one piece and moves on to the next one.

"I'm glad you are comfortable enough to relax now."

Hathier has to keep a tight grip on the platter of bread in order not to drop it. He gets off the table quickly, places the platter down, and bows deeply to the king.

"Your Highness," he greets. King Thranduil stands impossibly tall at the entrance of the kitchen, gazing at Hathier and Luthrin with intense curiosity. He isn't wearing his flower crown and had abandoned his heaviest green robes. Gripped in one hand is a large bow. That's when Hathier notices the quiver of arrows over the king's right shoulder. "Going to practice?"

The king's lips twitch into a barely there smile and nods. "For the time being until my duties call me back."

Hathier nods. "That's good, right? Taking a break every now and then is good."

King Thranduil hums. "Agreed." His glowing silver-blue eyes bore into Hathier's, but he otherwise doesn't move from his position. "I heard you attempted this," he jiggles the bow in his hand for a few seconds, "a few days ago and it did not...end well for you."

"I set my bow on fire," Hathier deadpans. "It was an accident. I was getting frustrated."

The king glances at Luthrin briefly and then returns his gaze to Hathier's face. "Come find me when you are done."

Blinking in surprise, Hathier nods slowly. "Of course, your highness."

"Enjoy the rest of your...meal," and with that, the king leaves them be.

Neither Hathier or Luthrin speak - or breathe, really - for a few moments. The king's presence has always been overwhelming, silently commanding attention the moment he enters a room. He can also be awkward at times.

"He will give you lessons," Luthrin states after a while. "No doubt the prince has informed him of everything that happened. Or, at least, inform him of some details."

"That's wonderful," Hathier replies just a tad bit sarcastic. "Failing twice is something I look forward too."

Luthrin moves to stand next to him and bumps his shoulder. "Don't be dramatic, Hathier. It's unbecoming."

Hathier rolls his eyes. "Haven't you heard, Luthrin? I make for a very bad elf."

"The prince merely teases you."

"I know." Hathier's shoulders slump. "But it's also true. I can...maybe hold a small conversation in elvish. I can't fight the way you all do. I'm not super stealthy. I'm trying so hard to blend in, but it's not working out."

Luthrin reaches up and tugs at Hathier's hair. "It's hard to blend in with hair like this. You're the only one among us with hair so dark. Besides," Luthrin takes a drink of his water, "you should not try to be anyone other than yourself."

"I don't want to embarrass the royal family nor the other elves of Mirkwood...should there be visitors."

"Your origins will be known as time carries on. Elves enter and exit Mirkwood every day. Stories of you would have made it to Riverdale and Lothlorien by now."

"Oh, that's wonderful!"

In truth? It's not wonderful. Those stories aren't coming from his own mouth, therefore, making them easily twisted and devalued depending on who the storyteller is.

"Sarcasm is unbecoming as well."

Hathier sticks his tongue out at Luthrin. "You told me not to change myself."

Luthrin stares at him before breaking out into his charming laughter. "Well, yes. Yes, I did."

Soon, both are laughing over their silly conversation. Hathier can feel an unknowing weight lift from his shoulders, his head a little clearer, and his hopes raising. Perhaps practicing with the king will benefit him?

"Have you seen the king shoot before?"

"On the occasion that he does have free time," Luthrin replies. "Should you see King Thranduil and Prince Legolas shoot side-by-side, you wouldn't be able to tell them apart. Their movements are perfect."

"I failed under the prince," Hathier starts playing with the hairs of his naturally messy hair.

"Because you grew frustrated."

"Yes. It's...different with the king. Prince Legolas is much easier going. I was embarrassed, truth be told. I don't think I can live after today if I do that badly in front of the king."

Luthrin claps his shoulder. "Dramatic," he states.

Hathier scowls. "Am I not allowed to freak out about this?!"

"'Freak out?'" Luthrin's brow furls.

"It means to be shocked or uncomfortable."

"The king will be steady," comes Luthrin's immediate reply. "Though, he may push you a little more."

"If you say so."

 _If at first, you don't succeed,_

 _Keep trying._

 _You can achieve more than you believe,_

 _Keep trying._

 _Giving up only leads to a wounded heart,_

 _And a wounded heart never heals. [1]_

He stands there completely mesmerized. He silently asks Prince Legolas for forgiveness because he has nothing on his father. The king stands tall and proud in the center of the field, firing arrow after arrow at a different target each time he releases one. He's alone, which eases Hathier's nerves just a bit, and skilled. Beyond skilled, really.

"Do you plan on standing there the entire time you're here?"

Hathier jumps, completely unprepared to hear the king speak. "Your Highness?"

"There's a spare set under the tree you're standing next too. Pick it up and come here."

Looking away, Hathier looks down next to him and sees the bow and quiver of arrows. They are unlike the ones he used when practicing with Prince Legolas, Tauriel, and those other elves. These arrows are thicker, longer, yet beautifully crafted. Hathier picks up the bow and it's equally as beautiful; being made of black wood and engraved with silver details. Grabbing the quiver, Hathier moves to stand next to the king.

"My son attempted to teach you. He states you did rather well with setting up your shot, but your aim was off."

"More than off, Your Highness. I don't know what I'm doing wrong but whatever it is, it's incredibly annoying."

The king finally lowers his bow to look at him. "Have you tried picturing them as your enemies or those who have disappointed you in the past?"

Hathier blinks. "Um, is that what you do?"

"Anger and disappointment are excellent motivators," is King Thranduil's only reply.

"Are you speaking from experience?" Hathier rephrases his question before slapping a hand over his mouth.

 _Why did I say that? Why why why why -_

"Yes."

Hathier stops his mental freak out. "Um..."

King Thranduil pulls out an arrow and taps the tip thoughtfully. "I have lived a long time, Hathier. I am...one of the oldest of our kind. I have seen many things, have done many things because of my anger and disappointment. Not all of them were with good intentions."

"Then why - "

"Because channeling my anger or disappointment allows me to focus. I never miss a target." Hathier bites his lip to keep himself from asking what has made him angry in the past.

"Fear is a good motivator too," he replies instead.

"Yes, it is. We may be different from the other races, but we all experience anger, fear, disappointment and allow them to motivate - or influence - our actions. However, you need to pick one for today and use it to your advantage. Pick a target."

Hathier looks at the rows of targets across the clearing, choosing one at the back.

"Set up."

He obeys.

"Have you decided what will motivate you today?"

Hathier pauses. He has always been either a very emotional person or someone who shows little emotion. Anger? He could use anger. He has so much to be angry about. Some many events to be angry about. Some many people to be angry at. Disappointment? The same with anger. Really, they are equal in terms of everything that has happened to him.

Hathier doesn't consider fear.

"Yes," he replies.

"Good. Line up your arrow. Keep both eyes open."

Doing as he is told, Hathier lines up his arrow and stares at the target. He chooses disappointment. Disappointment towards those who should have cared for him growing up. Disappointment towards the Daily Prophet and their false or edited news. Disappointment at himself for cowardly leaving his world behind to deal with the aftermath of the war. All of it is focused at the faraway target.

"Breathe in - "

" - and out."

Hathier releases the arrow.

Thwack.

He stops. Looks away. Looks back. Looks at the king. Looks back.

"Is it in the - "

" - center? Yes."

Throwing his hands up, Hathier lets out a loud, "Yes! I did it!"

"May I ask what you were thinking about?"

Hathier bites his lower lip before replying,"Disappointment. At those who were supposed to look out for me while I was growing up and at myself," he looks at the king, "for leaving all those I love and care for behind."

King Thranduil nods slowly before looking at the single arrow sticking out of the target Hathier choose. "You did well. And on your first try." He blinks slowly. "Do it again."

Hathier nods slowly. "Okay."

For hours, they stayed there and practiced. Well, more like Hathier practiced and the king fires an arrow every now and then. And it's relaxing to Hathier. He feels calmer. Just about every arrow hits the center of a target.

"Let's stop for today."

Hathier lowers his bow. "I think I did well today."

"You did. Much better than before, I'm sure."

"I only managed one hit the other day and it wasn't the center," Hathier replies. "Today is much, much better." He turns to the king. "Thank you."

"I merely set you in the right direction. You did all the work."

A smile tugs at the corner of Hathier's mouth. "True, but I won't have gotten far without you."

King Thranduil nods slowly but otherwise doesn't reply.

"King Thranduil!" A she-elf comes charging into the clearing. "Come quick! It's the prince - "

The she-elf doesn't get a chance to finish her sentence before the king takes off in a sprint towards the Healing House, Hathier right on his heels. Dread pools in the bottom of his stomach the closer they draw near. If something happens to Prince Legolas...Hathier doesn't know what he'll do. He doesn't know what the king will do either.

"Your Highness," Galtara greets them quietly upon their arrival.

Hathier is breathing heavily but the king doesn't appear out of breath at all.

"Where is he?" King Thranduil demands. "What happened to him?"

"The first room," Galtara replies while stepping back to let them through. "Venom from a spider. The wound..." There's a grave expression on his face. "The wound is taking too long to heal."

Hathier left the king and Galtara to speak as he walks into the first room. He's greeted by an exhausted Tauriel with a bandaged leg propped up on a spare chair, Luthrin fussing over her bleeding left arm, and the prince; out cold with grey skin and a wrapped chest. The wound is clearly not healing if the bloody bandages are anything to go by.

"Hathier," Tauriel breathes. "I'm glad to see you." He makes his way over to her and leans down hug her as gently as possible. Her tense form relaxes against him immediately.

"I'm glad you're alive," he whispers into her messy hair.

"We have missed you," Tauriel replies. "And we're sorry."

"Don't apologize to me. You did nothing wrong." He pulls away and turns to the prince. "What happened?"

"Outnumbered," she answers. "The two of us against 15 of them."

"Why did you two go out by yourselves?"

"I would like to know as well."

Hathier turns towards the door, sees the angry look on the king's face, and steps a step back.

"Your son outranks me, my lord. I am to follow the orders of my superiors."

When the king doesn't reply, Hathier takes the opportunity to get closer to the prince. His eyes are closed, sweat gleaming along his temple.

 _Maybe I can help_ , Hathier thinks. _I can at least try._

"Do you have the plant known as 'dittany?'" Hathier asks before the silence stretches to an unbearable length.

"There's some on the outskirts of the kingdom," Galtara replies.

"Can you obtain some for me?" Hathier pulls out the silver ribbon he keeps in his breast pocket and ties his hair up. "I can help him with it."

"How so?" Luthrin asks. "What properties does dittany contain to heal such a wound?"

"It helps with poison," Hathier replies while taking a clean towel from the small table next to the prince's bed, dips it in the bowl of water next to it, and gently pats Prince Legolas' forehead. "And can heal wounds."

"Retrieve it at once," King Thranduil orders. "How much do you require?"

"As much as you can bring. Dittany can also be stored for future uses."

Luthrin's out the door not a moment later.

 _I've made many friends in this new world,_

 _They help with the ache in my heart._

 _Losing them so soon will break it,_

 _And I can't handle any more heartbreak._

 _I will save them,_

 _I will save them. [2]_

Many elves gather in the Healing House to watch Hathier create an antidote to heal the prince. No one bothers Hathier and Galtara as they work on mashing the plant into a thin paste, adding lemon juice to get rid of the dead skin cells. Luthrin stands off to the side, taking notes on the process. This process could - would - save lives in the future.

"You need to remove the bandages," Hathier states. "He's going to bleed more." Finally, he looks at the king with serious eyes. "This is going to hurt him because there's no pre-numbing agent."

"He will live?"

Hathier nods. "I guarantee it."

"Then continue."

With a nod, Hathier motions for a few elves to step forward. "Hold him down," he says with a stern voice.

Many elves gather around the prince, each grabbing a section outlining his body. At Galtara's nod, Hathier begins to pour the paste onto the wound. The reaction is instant. The prince jerks, mouth opening in a soundless cry. Even in his sleep, he shakes his head back and forth and tries to move his body away for the antidote.

When the bowl is empty, Hathier hands it to whoever is next to him and starts patting the mixture into the skin with a towel. In the middle of the process, he starts humming a tone. One unfamiliar to the elves, but one Hathier holds close to his heart. Prince Legolas' arching body drops unmoving onto the bed soon after.

"He's okay," Hathier states when he sees the look on the king's face. "He's exhausted. Physically and mentally."

Light green liquid starts pouring out of the wound once Hathier moves the towel away.

"Venom," he answers the unspoken question. "Start wiping it away. Don't burn it. Dittany is extremely flammable."

"It's already healing!" A shocked she-elf exclaims.

And it's true. The wound is slowly, but surely, closing. It takes but a minute and it's healed over completely. The newly healed skin is bright pink, but there is no evidence of a scar.

"Dittany," Hathier speaks to gather their attention, "can heal many wounds and cure most poisons. It can help with common illnesses. You can eat it raw. To help small wounds. It's most effective form is the paste."

 _Thank you for making me read that book, Hermione. You helped me save a friend_ , he thinks.

Hathier takes the clean towel from Galtara and dabs the prince's forehead. "He'll wake up soon."

And with that, he steps away. Everyone starts talking at once while Hathier slips out of the room with all intent and purpose to wash up. He feels disgusting and wants to bathe. He knows Prince Legolas is in good hands now.

 _They're in safe hands now,_

 _Because you saved them._

 _You should be happy and proud,_

 _At all the work you've done._

 _So why are you so upset?_

 _Why are you crying? [3]_

He skips out on dinner that night; too tired to do more than bathing and crawl into bed. If anyone came to get him for dinner, he sleeps right through it. But like most nights, he's drawn into the white forest.

"Will I be able to return...home? If only for a little bit?" Is the first thing he says when he opens his eyes and is greeted by the familiar place.

 _Yes._

"How long will I be able to stay?"

 _How long do you wish to stay?_

"A week, perhaps? Enough time to see my friends and celebrate my godson's birthday?"

 _Of course._

Hathier hesitates.

 _You wish to bring others with you._

"I want them to see my life before coming here. Maybe they'll understand me better?"

 _They try to understand, child. They are often confused and wary, but also curious and willing to learn. They may be set in their ways, but you may change their minds and how they view those unlike them; unlike you._

"Unlike me?"

 _You are one of them, but also different. You have their appearance, but they do not have your abilities. You are unique. You are blessed._

"Why did you choose me?" He doesn't remember if he asked this already. It has been on his mind for some time why. Why was he chosen to take this journey? What made him so special beyond his scar?

 _Your soul cried out for relief. You were...in so much pain. I could not bear to let you suffer anymore._

"But you said that I would eventually deal with a war..."

 _Utopia does not exist, child. No world is without pain or suffering, war and loss. Some will gain, others will lose. You must decide where you stand when the times comes._

Hathier nods slowly. "Alright. When can I return?"

 _When you decide._

"Galtara travels to Dale in a few days and the anniversary is next week," he mumbles to himself.

 _You do not have to choose right now._

"I will need to soon. Really soon." He sighs. "How will I let you know when I'm ready to leave? How will the others know?"

 _When you're ready, I will provide a link for you to cross into your previous world. Only those you wish to bring can travel with you through it._

"Okay. Thank you."

 _I require no gratitude._

And he wakes up.

* * *

Edited - 9/10/2017

1, 2, & 3 - I wrote the lyrics.

If you have the time, please review.

~SiriuslyFallingInLove


	12. Chapter 12

This chapter is dedicated to **BrilliantLady**.

* * *

 **Chapter Nine**

 _"May the hair on your toes never fall out!" ~ The Hobbit_

It took multiple reassurances from Prince Legolas, Tauriel, Luthrin, and even the King, for Hathier to even consider getting on the horse to follow Galtara to Dale. There is also the simple fact that he has never ridden a horse before and the horses of Mirkwood are quite large. His entire being contrasts with the white mare, but Clarice - the name he chose for her - is good to him and allows him to pet her whenever he feels like it.

"It's about a two-hour journey to Dale" Galtara pats his horse - Cathel, Hathier learns - and sits up straight. "We will not cross the river until the end."

"Would crossing the river earlier make the journey quicker?" Hathier asks as he turns to give one more wave to the party seeing them off.

"In theory, yes, but we have no need to rush."

Hathier blinks. "Really?"

"Really."

"Oh, okay."

They travel in silence for most of the trip, but Hathier doesn't mind. He likes this view of the river and is quietly surprised that they aren't disturbed by any dark creatures. He shivers. If they were to come across a horde of spiders at one point, it would make for a very bad day. With the sun shining brightly in the cloudless sky, Hathier decides to strike up a conversation. finally.

"How long have you been a healer under King Thranduil?"

"Approximately five millennia. Why do you ask?"

Hathier blinks. "How old is the king?"

"A few years above his seventh millennia."

Leaning forward on his horse, he asks, "He's really that old?"

Galtara chuckles. "Elves age differently than the other races, Hathier. We live far longer than any of them."

"Too long," Hathier mumbles.

"I find myself agreeing," Galtara replies kindly. "We have witnessed the rise and fall of the ages, have lost comrades and family thousands of years ago, been through the worst of wars among other races and our own kin."

"Elves attacking elves? Why?"

Galtara pulls on the reins of Cathel so that he is side-by-side with Hathier and no longer ahead. "It is a long history that you will come to know of eventually, but an abridged version is that some of our kind are incredibly more selfish than others and disagreements can - and will - lead to death."

Hathier looks out towards the river, sees a few fish skip through water, and nods. "It must have been hard to build yourselves back up from that."

"It continues to be, Hathier. The leaders of the elven cities do not often communicate with each other unless absolutely necessary, with the exception of Lord Elrond of Rivendell and the Lord and Lady of Lothlorien. But even so, I am told that their relationship is strained."

"Are we allowed to talk about this?" Hathier asks quietly.

"The knowledge about their situation is known. Lord Elrond is married to the daughter of the Lord and Lady of Lothlorien, Lady Celebrían, and she gave him twin sons and a daughter. Upon taking a trip to visit her parents, she and her party were attacked and violated by orcs." Hathier flinches. "Lady Celebrían fell under the elven sickness and did not recover despite our best healers and she was sent to heal in the Grey Havens, or _Mithlord_."

"That's terrible!"

Galtara nods, appearing sad. "The sons, Elladan and Elrohir, spend much of their time hunting orcs and the daughter, Arwen Evenstar, remains in Lothlorien with her grandparents as far as I am aware."

"Prince Legolas knows Elladan and Elrohir," Hathier states. "He mentioned them in the past." Which is true to some extent, but the prince never went into much detail.

"Ah, yes. Those three used to get into a lot of trouble when they were much younger. It would be most unfortunate to fall into one of their pranks. The prince would visit Rivendell for entire seasons..." Galtara trails off.

"Why did he stop?"

"King Thranduil and Lord Elrond have, perhaps, the most strained relations among the oldest of our kin." He looks at Hathier. "Bad blood. And in some cases, their feelings got in the way of their son's friendship." He reaches over and pats Hathier's shoulder. "Let's keep this between the two of us."

"Of course."

Galtara nods before sighing. "Lord Elrond was a commanding officer under the King, Gil-Galad. His right hand in many cases. King Gil-Galad and Oropher, King Thranduil's father, struggled with balance. It reminds me of when you spoke of the founders of Hogwarts. Eventually, Oropher pulled away from King Gil-Galad and formed his own rule."

"He gave himself the title of king?"

"Yes, but due to this imbalance between himself and King Gil-Galad, it - "

" - carried over to King Thranduil and Lord Elrond."

"It's unfortunate," Galtara starts, "because they are equals in battle and their wives favored each other. King Thranduil's main reason for keeping Prince Legolas so close to Mirkwood is to keep him safe. Lord Elrond has a wife he will reunite with one day, King Thranduil does not. The prince's recent venture into the woods will only increase the king's worry."

"I know you're leaving plenty out because this is a complicated matter, but their situation is...incredibly sad."

"Very much so. The king and his son have a flickering relationship, but they do care deeply about each other and would, no doubt, be heartbroken if one were lost to the elven sickness or in combat."

They lapse into silence after that, each lost in their own thoughts. Hathier turns towards the river, blinking slowly.

 _Could I fall to the elven sickness?_

His grief nearly ended him once.

 _Come ye' children,_

 _To the marketplace, we go!_

 _Where cakes and silks are sold,_

 _To fill the empty heart. [1]_

Hathier looks around in utter amazement at the hustle and bustle of the men and women covering Dale's marketplace. All sort stalls and booths are open for the public. Silks, food, weapons, books and scrolls, and jewelry captivate the people with earnest. The air is alight with ease, happiness, and the joy of a good weather day.

The sight is familiar and, for a brief moment, Hathier feels like he is back in Diagon Ally with Hagrid or the Weasleys. His smile eases up until his gaze glances around wistfully.

His shoulder is bumped.

"I did not invite you along to put you in a sour mood," Galtara states. He then reaches over and grabs the reins from Hathier's hands, urging his horse along until they are in front of the stables. Hathier remains silent. "Do you wish to stay with the horses?"

"Uh, no. I was just recalling something from my past."

"I...see - "

"Master Galtara!"

Both Hathier and Galtara turn around to see a young man racing towards them, long dark brown hair flapping in the wind without a care. When he gets closer, Hathier can't help but think he is handsome.

"Ah, good afternoon. How are you, little one?"

The man stops in front of them, scowl on his face. "I'm not so young anymore, but I am well." He turns to Hathier. "Who is your companion?"

"This is my friend, Hathier." Galtara places his hand comfortably on Hathier's shoulder. "Hathier, this is Rial. A sort of...apprentice of mine."

"Pleased to meet you."

Rial offers a smile that causes Hathier to look away, feeling his face heat up. "Charmed, Master Hathier."

"Oh, stop it." Galtara moves to be in front of Hathier. "You know better."

"I am only being polite." The innocent tone of his voice has Hathier peak over Galtara's shoulder. "You hardly bring companions with you to Dale."

"And for good reason, you mischievous child."

Rial sighs, clearly exasperated. "I am 24 summers. I am not a child."

"Hm, of course. Forgive me."

" _Over the mountain and far away do the travelers come. Seeking shelter from the blistering world, to heal their heart -_ " Hathier turns towards the sound of the song to see a rather large group of people gathered around a young girl dressed in fine clothes, ribbons dawning her hair, twirling as she sings. " _Here, you'll be safe. Here, you'll be warm. Here, your heart can heal._ "

"It seems Meline is feeling much better," Galtara comments from behind Hathier.

"Ay," Rial replies. "She's been out here several days now. The people have missed her."

"Hathier." Turning back around, Hathier gazes up at Galtara patiently. "I will be attending a meeting along with Rial. Go about the marketplace for now. I will find you later." He nods at the small pouch tied to Hathier's hip, the pouch containing his money.

"I," he pauses. Being left on his own isn't exactly what he wants, but Galtara _did_ travel to Dale for business. "Alright. I hope your meeting goes well."

Galtara nods and turns away. Rial sends him a wink - to which Hathier promptly ignores - and moves to follow the elf. Left on his own, Hathier doesn't immediately start off in any direction. The surrounding people do cast him curious looks and he blames his hair for that. Wild and free-falling down his back, he didn't have the urge to put it in a ponytail for the trip.

Ignoring them, he decides to stroll around the area near the stables though, more often than not, he strides over to the young girl, Meline. There's something about her voice that sounds comforting. He sees the elderly sitting close to her, many with their eyes closed, nodding alone pleasantly. And for a moment, he is struck with sadness.

He'll live beyond all these people if he's lucky enough - "Oof!"

"I'm sorry," a voice squeaks.

Hathier looks down to see a little girl on the ground, basket turned over with food spilling out. Hathier is quick to gather the non-perishable foods into the basket and gently help her up. "Are you okay?"

The little girl nods before looking at her basket. "Oh no, the bread is bad."

And it's true when Hathier looks at it. It's covered in small bits of dirt and rock. "I'll replace it. Where did you get it?" She hesitates before pointing to the left of them. There's a small doorway with a little smoke streaming out of it. "Alright. Let's go."

It only takes a few seconds, but the little girl latches onto his hand. He is not the tallest of elves, but he's also not the shortest so it's not too awkward to have her hold his hand.

"Excuse me," he calls into the doorway. "I need to replace this young girl's bread."

"Oh, Eionen. You silly child. You need to - " The baker looks up and pauses and then proceeds to bow. "Master Elf, forgive this child."

"It's okay. I was equally, if not more, at fault. Please allow me to replace her bread." Hathier opens his pouch and pulls out a couple of sickles. "Will this cover it?"

The baker stares at the silver, completely surprised. "That's more than enough. She can have plenty."

Hathier smiles. "Thank you." He kneels in front of the girl. "Eionen, was it?" At her slow nod, he smiles encouragingly. "Pick out whatever you like, okay?"

"Truly?" She asks in this sweet, soft voice.

"Truly."

With a giggle, she wanders over to the different piles of bread on the counter and looks them over.

"It is kind of you to do that for her," the baker states quietly.

"As I mentioned, it was more or less my fault. I should have been more aware of my surroundings."

The baker only smiles in reply.

 _It's the small acts of kindness,_

 _That save the world._

 _It starts a domino effect,_

 _One greatly needed in everchanging life._

 _So be kind. [2]_

"Will you be able to return home safely?" Hathier asks once they step outside of the bakery.

"Mhmm." She nods and smiles. "Thank you." Before Hathier can react, she turns, places her full basket on the ground, and launches herself at his legs, hugging them with all her might.

He pats her head gently. "My pleasure." He stands there for a moment as she walks away and can't fight the smile appearing on his face when the surrounding people nod their approval.

After that, Hathier just picks a random direction and starts walking. He passes some booths selling fine clothing and shiny jewelry, but they don't interest him enough. Really, he wants to find something for Teddy first and foremost, but nothing particularly catches his eye. Though people are incredibly kind when he stops to speak to them, he's left to his own devices.

Until something catches his eye in the last booth at end of the stone road. A rattle, beautifully painted and not so large, sticks out among a basket full of knickknacks. He moves to pick it up but hesitates. Would Teddy like a rattle? Would it be too big? He can easily cast a spell on it so that the paint doesn't chip.

"Do you have a child?" The woman behind the booth asks.

"No," Hathier replies and then shakes his head. "It's a bit more complicated than that. His birthday is approaching and I have yet to get him something."

The woman smiles encouragingly. "It's alright. How old is...he? She? Forgive me."

"It's alright. He's nearing his first year."

She picks up the rattle and gives it a little shake. Unlike other rattles he's heard in the past, this one tings like bells. It's an oddly pleasant sound. "My mother made this before passing away. It's not like others. Much more unique."

Hathier pulls several sickles out of his pouch. "Will this cover it?"

She waves his offer away. "You may have it." Hathier blinks.

Hathier blinks. "I can't just take it."

"No nonsense, Master Elf. Your kindness towards my daughter will feed us tonight and we have enough bread to last us many a day."

"Oh," Hathier replies, surprised. "You're Eionen's mother."

"Yes. I am called Methonen."

"Pleased to meet you," Hathier bows slightly. "My name is Hathier."

"Hero from a distant land?" She asks. "A rather unique name, even for an elf."

"It's a complicated story."

"Much like your not-child?"

Hathier finds himself returning her teasing smile before looking at the rattle in his hand. "Are you sure about this?"

"I insist."

He carefully puts the rattle in his pouch and offers her a kind smile. "Thank you. I am very grateful."

Methonen shakes her head. "No, Hathier. _Thank you._ "

 _Good things come to those who wait,_

 _Good things come to those who care,_

 _Good things come to those who try. [3]_

"I did not mean to leave you on your own for too long," Galtara states before drinking from his water pouch. "Meetings tend to fall off schedule when no one can agree or even agree to disagree."

"What was it about if you don't mind me asking?"

Galtara leans back. Behind him, the sun is setting and the sky is filled with varying ranges of orange and purple and red. It's really pretty, something Hathier enjoys when given the change. "Medical skill, technique, and more." He huffs in annoyance. "I like to think myself a patient being, but some...creatures like to test my patience."

Hathier chuckles quietly. "I understand."

"How did you spend your afternoon? Do you like Dale's marketplace?"

"It was a peaceful afternoon for the most part. I bumped into a little girl and replaced the bread that fell out of her basket and received a rattle as payment for doing by the mother after I came across her booth."

"A rattle?" Galtara blinks, confused.

"For my godson. He'll be a year old soon and I wanted to get him something treasurable."

"I see - " Galtara pauses and closes his eyes as if fighting off a headache.

"Is something wrong?"

"You have an admirer," he replies simply.

Hathier sighs. "Is it Rial?"

"Yes."

"I'm not interested."

"I am aware." Galtara opens his eyes and looks over his shoulder pointedly. "You wear your emotions on your sleeve."

"Romance is not something I need in my life right now. Besides," Hathier accepts the water pouch, "I don't want to be with someone who can't live alongside me. I don't need any more heartbreak in my life."

"If that is the case, you should never venture outside the comfort of your home," Galtara says this with a sad smile. "Elves live far beyond any other race, Hathier. Dwarves are lucky to reach 300 years, men lucky to reach 100, and hobbits lucky to reach 150. You will, perhaps, meet many of them during your travels and befriend them. Perhaps, fall in love. They do not have timeless lives and when they pass, it stays with you."

Hathier hesitates. "You sound as if you're...speaking from experience."

Galtara rests his head against the stone wall behind them and nods. "I had two close friends who eventually became my lovers, both of the race of men, a woman and a man, at different times. I loved - still love - them dearly and I treasure every memory I have of our time together, but I knew what would happen in the end."

"And yet, you still did it."

"Yes, I still did it."

Hathier finally takes a drink from the pouch in his hands before handing it back. "Do you have any regrets?"

"I would never regret either of them."

He feels the corner of his mouth twitch. "I'm glad."

"You have more than enough to find someone if you wish, Hathier. There is no hurry. You are new and quite young. There's more to Middle Earth than finding love."

"I would hope so," Hathier laughs a little.

"Although," Galtara starts, "you may want to make yourself clear with Rial. He seems awfully interested and he's heading this way. He seems very determined."

"I never thought I'd be placed in a situation like this. Usually, people didn't want to be near me most of the time."

"I have told him to stay away from you, but he doesn't listen. Once his mind is set, he's determined to get his way. Such a mind is fantastic in the Healing House."

"Not so fantastic outside of it, I suspect."

Galtara nods. "Rather annoying at times. He's such a child."

"I'm a child."

"Through your transition, but you are far more mature than he is and your life is very much different."

"I - " He pauses when Rial stops in front of them, grinning down a Hathier.

"Good evening, Master Galtara, Master Hathier. How are you both?"

Hathier sees Galtara roll his eyes good-naturedly out of the corner of his eye. "We are good, Rial. What can we do for you?"

"Oh, I thought I could get to know Master Hathier more. If you don't mind?" He looks at Hathier, one eyebrow raised.

"I will not fall into bed with you," Hathier deadpans. Rial's eyes widen comically while Galtara turns away quickly to hide his amused face. "You are handsome, but I am not interested."

"Perhaps, not now." Rial recovers quickly. "The future is not set in stone."

Hathier looks him up and down. "I prefer my male lovers to be taller." Galtara snickers under his breath.

Rial's mouth falls open and then he looks offended. "I have a good height!" But when Hathier stands up, he towers over Rial by a foot. Something Hathier didn't notice earlier.

"I'll make you see reason!"

Hathier cocks an eyebrow. "The fates are not in your favor."

Rial inhales sharply before his shoulders slump. "Friends then?" There is still determination in his eyes.

"That's better. I'd like that." Hathier returns the smile he receives.

"Are either of your hungry? The bonfire in the city center is starting soon."

Hathier looks to Galtara, questioning. Galtara nods. "We have some time to spare."

"Excellent."

 _Put aside today's troubles,_

 _They are tomorrow's worries._

 _Enjoy yourself,_

 _Find peace,_

 _You'll be okay. [4]_

The experience is excellent: the food is wonderful, the music is hearty, and the wine delicious - or so he is told. Rial tired more than once to get Hathier to drink a glass but he steadily turned them down.

"It takes quite a bit to get elves drunk. One pint wouldn't harm you," Galtara mentions as they head towards the stables.

"I'm not one for wine, or any sort of alcohol, really. I've never really had the taste."

"Elves like their wine," Galtara mutters under his breath.

"And clearly men do as well."

"Oh yes, but they tell the most interesting stories when drunk." They share a laugh.

"Rial seemed to enjoy himself despite, you know, passing out an hour into the event. I feel a little bad for leaving before he wakes up."

"He will learn from this," Galtara states firmly. "Do not drink yourself into a stupor when you've just made a friend."

Hathier laughs. "I'll come back."

"Indeed."

Retrieving their horses is a simple matter. "I'm glad we're going back at night," Hathier says as he mounts his and gives her a solid part to the neck.

"Why is that?"

"I'm not sure how to explain it. I just like traveling at night." As they exit the city of Dale, Hathier smiles at the stragglers and offers a few waves to the children who wave goodbye.

"What is your opinion of Dale, Hathier?" Galtara has them heading towards the river.

"Mostly good."

"Mostly?"

"I, er, wanted to meet a dwarf."

"You wanted to meet a dwarf," Galtara deadpans.

Hathier slowly. "I thought it would be cool to meet one."

"'Cool?'"

"Meaning, nice or pleasant."

"Well, there will certainly be opportunities in the future."

 _Friendships come and go,_

 _But I hope the one we share stays._

 _It's built on mutual appreciation,_

 _Maybe love one day. [5]_

"Is it true?" Prince Legolas asks him the following day when he walks into the garden. "Did you really hope to meet a dwarf?"

"Good morning to you as well, Your Highness. I'm doing lovely. Thank you for asking." He looks up to see Prince Legolas grinning at him. "And to answer your question, then yes. I really wanted to meet a dwarf."

"Why?"

Hathier shrugs as he snips away at overgrown branches. "I've never met a dwarf before."

"Of all creatures, you pick a dwarf." The prince shakes his head in mock-disappointment. "Why not a hobbit?"

"Luthrin mentioned in passing that hobbits don't leave their settlements?"

"Ay, it is true. But elves and dwarves do not have the closest of connections. We work at, mostly, a pure business relationship."

Hathier hums. "I'll still meet one eventually."

Eventually," Prince Legolas agrees. "Now, tell me about this admirer?"

"Does Galtara believe in gossip?"

"You do not fool me, Hathier. You know we would have asked."

"A man by the name of Rial took interest in me and I set him straight. Now I can only hope that he'll stay true to his word and we become friends."

"I see."

"I'm not actively looking for love, Your Highness. I have other things to worry about." Prince Legolas nods slowly. "And one of those things is hoping that you and everyone will be ready to leave when I travel back to my old world."

"You can take us with you?"

"Of course," Hathier stops to look at him. "I think it will be an interesting experience for all of us."

* * *

1, 2, 3, 4, & 5 - I wrote the lyrics. And yes, I messed with the lore. Why? Because I can. That's the beauty of being a fanfic writer, right? A couple of things: 1) Check my profile for update information & 2) If you want me to reply to you privately, put an asterisk (*) at the beginning or end of your review (it helps me keep track of replies). If you have the time, please review.

~i-just-really-like-sakura


	13. Chapter 13

PLEASE READ THE NOTE AT THE END!

* * *

 **Chapter Ten**

 _"If you want to know what a man's like, take a good look at how he treats his inferiors, not his equals." ~ Harry Potter and The Goblet of Fire_

The buzz surrounding the trip to his previous world is annoying - for lack of a better word - but Hathier supposes he can understand the excitement. On more than one occasion, an elf has approached him to ask about _how_ and _when_ and _who_. The _how_ is answered easily. Magic. The _when_ is almost as easy. Soon. The _who_ , surprisingly enough, seems to be the most difficult part because he wants to bring a pretty good size group - King Thranduil, Prince Legolas, Tauriel, Luthrin, and Galtara - and he's not quite sure how to go about bringing so many with him.

"You've sighed twice now, Hathier. What is the matter?"

Hathier's head snaps to the side. Prince Legolas is standing at the end of the table Hathier has taken a seat at when he entered the library earlier in the day for a bit of light reading.

"Traveling through dimensions is a lot more tedious than I anticipated." Hathier shrugs gracefully, long black locks spilling over his shoulder as he does. "But it's getting close to the anniversary and I feel..." He trails off.

 _How do I feel?_

"Overwhelmed? Uncertain? Nervous? Afraid?"

Hathier rolls his eyes. "Any of those will do, Your Highness. Thank you."

Prince Legolas' eyes flash with amusement as he moves to take the seat across from Hathier. "What caught your interest today?"

"The war of," Hathier pauses to flip back to the first page, " _Naumbegg_ *."

"Ah, yes. The war between men and dwarves. One of the more bloodied battles between the races. What section are you at?" The prince leans forward in an attempt to read upside down.

"The beheading of King Tri - Tri - _Tritaski_?"

"Very good," Prince Legolas praises. "Your pronunciation is getting better. As for the beheading of King Tritaski, it was a much-needed action." He reaches for the book and points at a random paragraph. "King Tritaski was a warmonger and, under his brief but terrifying rule, far too many lives were lost. Primarily the families of those who fought in the war. You will read this soon, but once his death was confirmed," Hathier watches the prince frown, "his kingdom fell soon after and his people scattered to the wind like the leaves of fall."

"I often find myself wondering what could have been done to prevent situations like these," Hathier replies - voice having gone soft - while he marks the page and closes the book. "And what can be done to avoid these situations in the future."

Prince Legolas nods solemnly. "Part of the reason these books are kept around is to remind us of our past while also allowing ask to analyze them to avoid tragedies in the future."

"War takes more than life."

"Indeed."

Hathier looks away. "I'm sorry. I don't mean to be a downer."

"'Downer'?"

The prince tilts his head but Hathier just waves him off casually. "Make the air between us sad or tense."

"It is fine. I am the one who invited myself to sit with you."

Hathier pushes his seat back and stands up. "I don't mind the company, Prince Legolas - "

"Legolas."

"I'm sorry?"

The prince copies his actions and gets up. "We've known each other long enough. I'd liked you to refer to me by my given name, not the title attached to it." Hathier doesn't reply immediately. "If you are comfortable with using it...?"

"I - are you sure?"

Legolas laughs. "Absolutely."

"Legolas," Hathier tries out. "I'll have to get used to that."

"Take your time, Hathier." They grin at each other.

 _Let me explain something..._

 _Dimension hopping is tedious._

 _But it will all work in the end._

 _Why?_

 _Because you're with me. [1]_

"I want to try something," Hathier states when he greets Galtara at the end of their final lesson before the trip. "If you're up to it, that is. And if you have time to spare."

Galtara blinks at his sudden eager appearance and beaming presentation. "I have free time. What would you like to try?"

"Side apparating," Hathier replies immediately. "I teleport us to a different location."

"And you feel confident enough to try?"

Hathier hesitates. "Um, yes."

"You don't sound very confident, Hathier. Are you sure you want to try this?"

"Well, to be honest, I've side apparated with two other people and I wasn't the one who did it. The last time it happened, my friend got splinched, but you're a healer so..." He shrugs.

"You want me to try out an activity that could possibly end with me injured because I'm a healer?"

"Um, yes?"

Galtara blinks before gracefully shrugging. "If anything, Luthrin is capable of looking after the Healing House should something happen to me."

"I appreciate your vote of confidence," Hathier replies a bit sarcastically.

"Where will you be taking us?" He steps closer to Hathier, shoulder barely brushing against Hathier's. "Somewhere with a lot of elves? Somewhere remote?"

Hathier rolls up his sleeves carefully and grins. "I was thinking I can try the library? I've spent plenty of time there reading up on Middle Earth's history."

"Onward then."

Eyes sparkling with something Galtara can't quite recognize, he blinks - sucking in a deep breath when a tightening in his stomach hits him at full force - and, with a loud _crack_ , they're gone only to appear in the library moments later. In a nearly full library where several dozen elves are staring at him and Hathier with wide eyes, dropped jaws, and completely frozen in the moment.

"How unbecoming," he mumbles but then Hathier is on him not even a second after he breathes in to speak some more.

"Are you hurt?" Hathier demands. "All limbs attached? Good. Any blood? None? Good. How do you feel? Do you feel sick? Should you sit down? Do you need a drink? Should I get - "

Galtara shoves him away good-naturedly. "Breathe, Hathier. I am well."

And Hathier does breath. His nervous face relaxes into an easy smile. "Are you sure?"

"I am...sure."

"Good. I think, for a first try, I did pretty well. So, um, I'll leave you to answer the questions. I promised Tauriel I would spend the afternoon with her practicing swordplay. I think it's an excuse to beat me down, but she denied it. See you later."

The moment he apparates away, the surrounding elves gather around a shocked Galtara.

"Of course you would," the older elf mutters under his breath before greeting the different elves in the library. "He really is spectacular, isn't he?"

It's said with complete and utter sarcasm.

 _Come ye' children,_

 _Let's play a game._

 _Pick up your swords,_

 _And swing away. [2]_

Hathier ducks out of the way of another attempt at his head. His head feels heavy with his sweat-damp hair and curly bangs annoyingly brushing at his temple adroppinging into his eyes. The sun is well on its way to set, but the air remains heavy - hot, even - and Tauriel refuses to hold back at all.

"Are you trying to kill me?" He calls out after creating some distance between them. "I thought you wanted to teach me the basic skills?!"

Tauriel grins - high off of adrenaline - and replies with, "Learning basic skills is useless if you can't demonstrate them in a battle!"

"We are sparring," Hathier cries. "You're not supposed to try and kill me!"

"Kill you?" Tauriel innocently tilts her head. "I'm not trying to kill you. I just want to take off a few inches." In one perfect leap, she's upon him again. Hathier has just enough time to block the blow and be pushed back a few feet.

In this moment, Hathier recalls Ginny and their time on the Quidditch pitch.

 _"It's like you're trying to break one of my bones!" Harry cries. "What did I ever do to you?"_

 _Ginny grins, perfect white teeth showing. "You ate the last slice of pumpkin pie during mum's Christmas party."_

 _Harry stares, mouth falling up. "That was three months ago!"_

 _"But pumpkin pie is my favorite, Ha - "_

" - thier, raise your sword!" Snapping out of his thoughts, Hathier lifts his sword and blocks a powerful blow from Tauriel before taking a swing at her. He missed her left ear by an inch.

"You're distracted. Remain focused. I don't want your sword to catch fire." There's a playful glint in her eyes. The 'setting the bow on fire' incident has become a sort of inside joke among himself, Tauriel, and Legolas. Now, it's applied to any case where Hathier is distracted.

"That comment stopped be funny the first 100 times."

Tauriel only grins in response.

 _I feel light on my feet,_

 _The stars are blessing me._

 _Happiness is within my reach,_

 _I sing a merry tune. [3]_

"You _teleported_ him to the library?" King Thranduil swirls the contents of his goblet. "And how did he fair after that?"

Hathier, having grown so much more comfortable in the presence of Mirkwood's king, swings his feet back and forth while sitting at the edge of the platform he is currently on. After his time with Tauriel, he sought out the king for some pleasant conversation and, maybe, discuss a small detail about the trip.

"I think he was impressed, but I couldn't give you a detailed description. I sort of left him to the curiosity of the other elves. I wouldn't have minded answering questions but there were so many of them. I didn't think the library would have been so packed today."

"The library has been rather popular these days," the king muses. "But I find it amusing that you simply...left him there. You're terrible."

Hathier scoffs. "He's the one that decided to go through with it!"

King Thranduil chuckles. "I commend you for your plan."

Glancing over the edge of the King's platform, Hathier sees the hustle and bustle of elves walking around with a variety of objects. Cloths, scrolls (and books), shiny plates, weapons, and whatnot. It's as if an event is about to take place and the arrangements are already set in motion.

"Are you hosting an event?" Hathier asks. "Everyone seems to have a task to complete."

"Next month is the beginning of the summer and I intend to have guests." King Thranduil places his goblet down and folds his hands in his lap, a perfect picture of relaxation. "Has Legolas not mentioned this to you?"

Hathier shakes his head. "I believe he is far too excited to be visiting my old world. We'll only be there for a week but it's most of what we discuss these days."

The king hums. "We look forward to it."

"There is one thing I've been meaning to tell you thought," Hathier bites his lips. "My old world has elves, but they aren't like the elves of Middle Earth."

"What are they like?"

Hathier turns away from the king. "Workers. Servants. They look nothing like you, any of you, and they are very small. Powerful," he throws in. "Very powerful and very loyal, but small with large ears. They are not dressed the best either. Typically rags or old clothing."

"I'm not so vain to feel embarrassed by elves that do not look like me, Hathier. No creature is absolutely the same. Elves of Middle Earth may share a likeness, but we are individuals whose only common factor, at it's barest form, is immortality. Our thoughts are different. Actions as well. We will not agree. In fact, we often disagree."

"But to each their own."

"Indeed."

 _It's time to go on an adventure!_

 _Grab your bags and kick up the dirt!_

 _Feel the wind in your hair._

 _Breathe in the new air! [4]_

Hathier re-checks his backpack one final time before sitting on his bed to lace up his boots. His fingers tremble with anticipation, nerves fried beyond compare, and yet his heart feels lighter. The sky seems brighter. He's going back. Home wouldn't be the appropriate word now. No, but it's close.

Mirkwood is more like home.

In more ways than one and Hathier feels no regret when viewing it as such. His time with the royal family, with Tauriel, with Galtara and Luthrin, has been filled with its ups and downs, but he's so, so glad for the day he dealt with too many spiders.

There's a polite knock on the door.

"Hathier? Are you ready?" It's Tauriel.

"Come in," he calls. "I'm almost ready."

Tauriel opens the door and, along with Legolas, walks in with a beaming smile. Upon her shoulders in a pack of her own; the prince opting for a satchel.

"Nervous?" Legolas asks. His eyes gleam with mischief. "I suspect you are."

Hathier rolls his eyes. "Not in the slightest. I know I won't be greeted with all friendly faces. I've already mentally prepared myself for that."

"What does that mean?" Tauriel tilts her head to the side.

"It means I've taken the time to prepare myself for this visit. I've gotten over it. Mostly. I think a little nervousness remains because that's natural."

He stands up and stretches, grinning when he hears a satisfying 'pop' from his back.

"I look forward to meeting your friends and family," Legolas replies. "I wonder if they have any interesting stories to share about you?"

Grabbing his backpack, Hathier heads for the door. "Oh, I'm sure they will. Especially from the twins."

"Twins?"

Hathier only grins at the simultaneous question. He's out the door with them right on his trail. True, he isn't completely nervous. True, he may not know what to expect exactly. But Hathier will take what he can get at this point regardless of how he's perceived by his former world.

* * *

1, 2, 3, & 4 - I wrote the lyrics.

*The Battle of Naumbegg is of my own creation.

I apologize for a relatively short chapter. Thank you to everyone who has been patient and supportive of this story. I know things are slow (both story and updating) but I will not abandon this story.

 **Important:** Please don't post this or any of my other stories on another website. Doing so doesn't benefit me as a writer and it only kills my motivation. My stories should only be found on this website (under the username: i-just-really-like-sakura) and Ao3 (under the username: ich_bin_ein_stern). Please inform me of reposts.

If you have the time, please review.

~i-just-really-sakura


	14. Chapter 14

**Chapter Eleven**

 _"Where there's life there's hope." - The Hobbit_

Hathier stares out over the land belonging to Hogwarts, his left cheek still aching from a slap courtesy of Ginny. He had to stop Tauriel from striking her down by explaining that Ginny was absolutely justified in her actions and that something like a slap will heal in do time. Of course, there were a variety of ways the reunion could have gone and Ginny's action had been one of the ways he thought things would turn out. She had recognized him immediately. He can still see the way her furious green eyes glittered with unfallen tears, her lips twisting into a frown of agony.

She had hugged him after that, apologizing, and then she pulled away to leave the room without any further comments. No one else has shown up. Hathier feels frustrated that he and his party popped up in the middle of Gryffindor common, but thankfully with no students out and about. They really lucked out there. Ginny had only been there to have some time for herself, to reminisce the old days.

No doubt the other Weasleys will start showing up little-by-little once Ginny gets the word out. He reaches up to touch his face, refusing to flinch when the sting returns full-force. Ginny has always had a keen strength about herself; on and off the Quidditch pitch. He briefly wonders if the twins will take turns punching him or hexing him. He's mildly surprised that Ginny didn't attempt to blast him away.

"Not the sort of reunion you expected?" Legolas steps up to him, apparently being the brave one to speak first. "She seemed equally upset and overjoyed to see you. I suspect that she will return soon so that you may have a proper reunion."

"With her brothers and parents, no doubt," Hathier replies. "Molly Weasley - Ginny's mother - is not a woman you want to mess with when she is angry or grieving." He then turns to address the other elves. "If they want to hit me, I ask that you do not interfere."

Tauriel frowns. "I do not wish to see you hurt." At the same time, Galtara steps forward.

"Do you want me to heal that?" Hathier grins, although painfully, and shakes his head. A visible refusal. "You are the strangest creature I know, Hathier."

"I am a very bad elf," Hathier shoots a pained grin towards Legolas. "But, nevertheless, the others will be here shortly. I can feel it." It is true. The growing presence of familiar magic drifts through the air. "Everyone will probably be - " But he never finishes his sentence due to the door to Gryffindor common bursting open and a flood of familiar faces appearing.

It was silent after that. Hathier stares at the faces of people he grew up with, people he fought with and cried with, people he called friends and allies. People who are currently staring at him with a variety of emotions.

"Mr. Potter?"

McGonagall aged drastically within a year's time. Her wrinkles are more prominent, there's a sort of slump to her shoulders, and she looks close to tears.

"Hello, professor."

A choked sob comes forth as she walks to him, steady as can be, and hugs him. It's tight. Suffocating, even. But all the same, Hathier sinks into her hug without nary a care of what others might think or react. His eyes sting with the sudden rush of tears wanting to fall.

" _Mr. Potter, you have been missed._ "

"It's Hathier, professor."

He hears a sniff. "Of course, your change is ever so enlightening." She pulls away, the knuckles of her pointer fingers dabbing at the corners of her eyes.

"Blimey, Harry. You look different."

Hathier can't help but laugh. It comes out as a wet sound. "It's Hathier, Dean." He moves away from McGonagall to let himself be clapped on the shoulder by his friend before being drawn into another hug. It's a cycle. The moment he's let go, someone else pulls him into a hug. Seamus and Dean grinned at him. Former members of Dumbledore's Army look up at him as if he has all the answers.

"Harry!"

He immediately turns around.

"Neville?!"

Neville Longbottom, tall and muscular, moves through the crowd with practiced ease. He has a shadow on hair on his lower face, but he moves tall. Proud. One year has been good to him. He's handsome and Hathier isn't afraid to admit that to himself. He's pulled into a hug. It's tight but homely.

"Look at you!" Neville playfully yanks on his hair. "That must be a pain to take care of. Are your ears pointed?!" Neville tugs on them. "You look really good. You're practically glowing."

Then Hathier catches a brief flash of gold. "Are you married?!"

Neville grins. "We all have to be hitched at some point. Luna will be happy to see you."

"Luna Longbottom," Hathier tests out. "It's lovely."

He receives a carefree grin. "Now, who are they?" It falls silent after that.

 _Not all reunions are pleasant,_

 _Some bring forth old emotions,_

 _Others bring about happiness._

 _Plenty has mixed reactions. [1]_

Hathier doesn't reply to Dean's comment of how King Thranduil and Prince Legolas look as if they could be related to the Malfoys. Frankly speaking, the two elves are far more beautiful. Senior Malfoy looked dead on his feet when the final battle took place. Lady Malfoy looked in a much better condition. Draco Malfoy was frightened and angry and lost too much weight at that time.

"No," Neville speaks instead. "They're better looking. Though, Malfoy looks better these days. Can't say much about his parents."

"Azkaban?" Hathier asked. The large group has dwindled significantly and they've relocated to an empty classroom as to not disturb the students. At least, not for a bit. Hathier's sure word has gotten out by now. "Or did Malfoy's father have enough gold and favors owed him that they never went?"

"Actually," Dean starts, "Malfoy Senior is currently in Azkaban. He took Malfoy's and his mother's place. Rumor has it that he'll be there for at least ten years. There are no more dementors at Azkaban so he'll keep his sanity. According to Mr. Weasley, his wife and son can visit him every other week for an hour. Something like that."

Hathier blinks slowly. "I see."

"It was shocking, to say the least, but you should have seen him. It's like all the fight has left him. He's a shadow of what he used to be."

"He had it coming. Those who sided with Voldemort are either dead, have fleed the country with bounties on their heads, or surrendered." Seamus leans against Dean's shoulder. "The Ministry is trying very hard to get them thrown into Azkaban. There have been high alerts across the world."

Neville pats Hathier's knee. "We're going to get them."

"I have faith in your ability."

"Will you tell us about your new world?" Neville asks. "Luna will want to hear from you, but she won't be here until tomorrow. She's with her dad."

Hathier relaxes in his seat. "How about I allow my companions to do it? They know it far better than I." After that, small groups were made as his old friends start questioning his new friends. Hathier smiles a little, appreciating that they are all getting along. His eyes connect with King Thranduil who sits off to the side, merely observing. Hathier nods towards the door and motions that he'll return shortly.

The king cocks an eyebrow but otherwise makes no move to get up or speak. Hathier slips through the door, aware of several pairs of eyes on his person, and closes it as quietly as he can. He comes upon students, smiling a little when they stare up at him in awe, allowing many to touch his hands and offer greetings.

He knows where his feet are taking him right up to the wall of which an iron door appears. He expects to find an empty room similar to his one in Mirkwood but finds Ginny instead. The room seems to be an exact copy of Weasley Burrow before it was set on fire two years ago.

"I can leave," he says before she can speak. "You probably want to be alone."

"Don't assume things, Harry." Her voice is rough from crying. Tear tracks and red-rimmed eyes will stay forever in his memory. "Least of all what I want. You're usually wrong."

If words could hurt physically, Hathier would have been slapped again. "Ginny - "

"How could you just leave?" Ginny looks away. "How could you walk away so easily when we were all hurting? How could you miss Ron's funeral and Hermione's? I know you were hurt. I know you wanted to be alone, but you didn't have the decency to tell us you were leaving."

"You would have wanted me to stay," Hathier hears himself say. "I didn't want to stay."

Ginny releases a bitter chuckle. "Clearly." She picks at her prosthetic, tugging lightly on her false pinky. "How long will you be staying?"

"Long enough to pay my respects on the anniversary and then..." _I'm gone forever_.

She hears the unspoken words. "Part of me wants to hate you."

"You have every right."

"And part of me wants to hit you again."

"I wouldn't even attempt to dodge it."

"But really, part of me wishes you would come over here so I can hug you again."

Hathier moves towards her slowly as she gazes at him until he's taking a seat on the couch next to her. Ginny doesn't react immediately. Her green eyes bore into his without hesitating; angry and hurt and utterly betrayed, but Hathier moves past them to pull her into a hug. It's careful. He's mindful of her prosthetic, mindful of her trembling body. Ginny has always been a strong, fierce person. She isn't fragile, but he still remains careful.

She sighs, sinking into his hug. "We've missed you so much."

"I've missed you guys too."

 _Slowly and steadily,_

 _Time heals wounds._

 _Scars will remain,_

 _But what else is new? [2]_

Molly Weasley's nearly all grey hair is the first thing Hathier sees when he returns to the group along with Ginny. The older plump woman takes on look at him and bursts into tears. The aged face of Arthur Weasley steps forward, wrapping an arm around his wife. His eyes, soft as they are, look into Hathier's. He doesn't appear angry or sad. Just relieved.

"Hello, Harry." He stops, shaking his head. Smile as gentle as ever. "Sorry. It's Hathier. Hello, Hathier."

"Mr. Weasley," Hathier greets kindly. "How are you?"

Arthur pulls his wife closer, gently stroking her hair. "Rather well, now." He pulls a handkerchief from his suit pocket and hands it to Molly.

"Forgive me, dear." Molly dabs her tears away. "I had a hard time believing Ginny."

Hathier hears Ginny snort behind him. "Why would I lie about Harry showing up, mum? He's still Harry regardless of his pretty makeover and ridiculous hair."

"Thanks, Gin. I appreciate the comment."

She smiles innocently before turning to her parents. "When will the twins get here?" Molly moves past her to hug Hathier.

"Tomorrow," Arthur answers. "Charlie wanted to make sure the nipplings were going to be okay without them. The little guys have grown attached to your brothers. One sent set Fred's hair on fire recently."

"At least we can tell them apart now," Ginny mumbles as she moves away to sit on the couch. Hathier watches her as she goes, pulling away from Molly. She sits next to Tauriel, the two looking at each other blankly, and relaxes seconds later. He recognizes that it's going to take some time for the two to get along.

 _We only have a week._

 _There's a child in all of us,_

 _A child who wants to see the sun._

 _We don't always let them out,_

 _The sun can leave behind burn marks. [3]_

Hathier doesn't see Luna until the following day, during the early afternoon, and she jumps him with a hug. Her long pale hair falls over them like a curtain. Luna's eyes glimmer with tears - happy tears, she insists - and she talks a mile a minute about missing him and wanting to know how his healing process is going.

"Luna," he laughs. "I tell you everything but I don't want to do it on the floor!" Her laughter is sweet sounding, light and airy, and wholly delicate. Hathier knows she's anything but. She rolls off him and sits up. "I've missed you, Hathier." Luna gets up, offering her hand to Hathier when she's righted.

"I've missed you too, Luna!" She yanks him to his feet and they hug fiercely. He turns towards the other elves. "This is Luna Longbottom. She is Neville's wife."

Luna curtsies. "Your Highness, it's a pleasure to meet you."

"The pleasure is mine, my lady."

She is quick to offer her hand, which a chaste kiss is bestowed, before looping her arm with Hathier's silk covered one. "You must come to the forest. The applebells* are in full bloom and they'll make a wonderful bouquet to give Ron and Hermione. They'll love them!"

And this is why he appreciates Luna. She doesn't beat around the bush. She doesn't hesitate to speak the names of their fallen friends. She doesn't break down into messy tears.

"I, um," Hathier turns back to his companions.

"Go on," Legolas replies. "Your friend - Neville? - will be taking us on a 'tour' of some sort."

Hathier looks at the king and prince. King Thranduil hasn't spoken much; simply choosing to gaze around the area. Legolas has actively spoken to Neville and Dean. Tauriel and Ginny have fallen to some sort of truce. They're not among them due to Ginny convincing the she-elf to go to the Quidditch pitch early in the morning. Galtara has disappeared with Luthrin when the mention of the hospital wing came up.

"Go on," King Thranduil. "We will be fine."

"Thank you."

 _There is hope yet,_

 _Small acts of kindness,_

 _Small acts that are cherished._

 _Just something tender. [4]_

Draco Malfoy filled out in all the places needed. He looks more like his mother than his father. The haunted look in his eyes, the fear and pain, is gone. He even let his hair grow out to shoulder length, half of it pulled back into a man bun to reveal sharp eyes and a pointed face. He does a double-take when seeing Hathier.

"Potter?" He sounds skeptical; almost wary. "Potter, is that you?"

Hathier cocks an eyebrow. "Malfoy." All negative emotions that welled up upon seeing the other boy quickly disappear. He's not going to be mad at Malfoy. It's not worth it. And, realistically speaking, both Malfoy and his mother have helped him. He clears his throat. "How have you been?"

Malfoy blinks, features calming to that of a picture-perfect facade of ease. "As well as I can manage. Though, having to return to school to retake a year is rather bothersome despite being necessary." He causally blows a stray hair out of his face. "And you?"

"Better." Hathier looks around. They're by the lake. He stumbled upon Malfoy moments ago when he decided to take a walk by himself. "Much better. No fame. No glory. Nothing that comes with all that nonsense."

He receives an elegant snort, something that only a Malfoy (and, perhaps, an elf) is capable of. "Only you would consider something like fame and glory to be nonsense, Potter."

"Can you blame me?"

Malfoy's face falls, his eyes averting to the ground. "No, of course not."

"Do you mind if I sit?"

"You're free to sit wherever you please, Potter."

So Hathier takes a seat right next to him. "How is your mum?"

"Well, I would say. I can hardly see her while at school. She spends most of her time in France or with Aunt Andromeda." Hathier cocks an eyebrow at that. "Oh, come off it, Potter. A lot of things can change in a year. That includes relationships. Mother likes to visit as often as she can."

"Have you met Teddy?"

Malfoy looks down at the ground. "A few times. I'm not...overly fond of children, but he isn't so bad."

"And your father?"

"I'm sure you know how he is, Potter."

"He took the fall for you and your mother. Frankly speaking, I never thought he would bring himself to do it."

He sees Malfoy clench his fists. "Trust me, Potter. No one expected it either. Least of all my mother and I."

 _Maybe I am cruel?_ Hathier thinks. _To think that someone like your father would even consider throwing himself to the dogs to keep you and your mother out. This must be his way of making it up to you two for bringing into the mess in the first place. I guess people can change when their dreams crash and burn._

"It's funny," Malfoy continues, "when I think about it. He was always so damn prideful." _So were you_. "But he cared in his own way as well."

Hathier looks down at his hands. "How are classes, Malfoy?"

"You don't have to stay here and force conversation, Potter."

"I just wanted to know how you were doing, Malfoy. I'm only here for a short while."

"The anniversary," Malfoy states. "It makes sense."

They fall into an awkward silence after that. Malfoy idly taps his leg while staring out at the lake while Hathier relaxes against the tree behind them and gazes up at the clouds. It's a clear sky, the late afternoon air is warm and nice. He feels okay sitting next to his former school rival.

"Can I ask why you look so different? Your hair is an absolute mess, Potter. Why would you ever grow it out that long?!"

"I forgot to attempt running a brush through it!" Hathier protests. "The past couple of days have been busy."

"Ah, yes. Too many reunions must be difficult to handle."

It takes Hathier a couple of seconds to realize Malfoy is joking.

"It can be overwhelming. There's lots of crying involved."

Malfoy snorts. "I'm sure."

 _We'll be okay_ , Hathier thinks as the two of them fall into another silence. This one much more comfortable and secure. _We'll be okay_.

 _The joy a child brings,_

 _It leaves one craving._

 _For every child is magical,_

 _If they only smile. [5]_

Little Teddy's hair changing to the exact same color as Hathier's the moment he sees him brings a wave of unfallen tears. Andromeda takes one look at Hathier and closes her eyes, accepting, before walking past everyone to draw him into a hug while mindful of the infant in her arms.

"You have been missed, dear."

"Andromeda, how are you?" Hathier asks while pulling away. "You look a little tired."

She laughs a little. "Because every woman wants to hear that, Hathier." Andromeda easily holds up Teddy. "Look, Teddy. It's your godfather in person. Look at how handsome he is."

Hathier blushes a little. "Now, that's not a necessary comment to be making."

"Nonsense. Hold out your arms." And he does. Thrusting them outward, almost impatient to hold Teddy. The moment the baby is in his arms, Hathier holds him close, nuzzling the fine baby hairs curling around his tiny ears.

"Hello, little one. I've missed you terribly."

Teddy's fingers find their way into Hathier's hair and pull. Hard. But Hathier doesn't mind. He doesn't mind one bit. The painful hair tug grounds him. He is here. He is in Hogwarts. He's surrounded by old friends and new ones. Hathier breathes in and relaxes.

Tomorrow was going to be okay.

"We have so much to talk about," Andromeda states as she starts guiding Hathier away from the curious group. The elves keep making attempts to look at Teddy and Hathier plans to introduce them properly soon enough.

"Like what?" Hathier cuddles Teddy closely.

Andromeda sighs. "Your inheritance, for starters."

Hathier frowns. "I've already received my inheritance. Long before I left."

"You haven't received everything Sirius left behind, dear. Items that were not listed in his will. The items specifically meant for you in case he passed before your 21st birthday."

"Birthdays never mattered to me, Andy. Besides, I'm an elf now. Birthdays aren't really...a thing, you know. What could Sirius possibly leave me?"

"All the books in the library, for starters." They're by the door now, speaking in low voices. Hathier knows the elves can pick up what they're discussing.

"Why would Sirius leave me all those books? Hermione was the bookworm."

Andromeda laughs a little and gazes down at a sleepy Teddy. "Your godfather is so funny, little one."

"What else is there? Books are one thing, but there can't be much left."

"Oh, Hathier. There's plenty."

* * *

1-thru-5: I wrote the lyrics.

I apologize for taking way too long to update. Thank you, as always, for the support. The next chapter will feature some heavy stuff that Hathier needs to address as well as having some surprising news come to light. If you have the time, please review.

~i-just-really-like-sakura

*applebells - a made up flower that looks like an apple just before it blooms


	15. Chapter 15

**Chapter Twelve**

 _"You're the weak one. And you'll never know love, or friendship. And I feel sorry for you." ~ Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix_

"Doth my eyes deceive me, brother?"

"No, brother. He seems to be our Harry."

"Harry does not have ears like that, brother."

"Nor does he have hair like that, brother."

"And he's far too pretty."

Hathier snorts at this. "You've always found me pretty, George." Both of the twins grin simultaneously but it doesn't quite reach their eyes. Something about that makes Hathier's heart hurt but he knows it's not fair of him to be upset at their lackluster expressions. They're trying, of course, but even he recognizes forced humor.

"Who are they?" Fred nods over his shoulder. "They look like Malfoys."

"I feel insulted that we have been compared to unknown persons without meeting them," Legolas states, but there is mischief in his eyes.

George cracks his neck effortlessly and all the tension bleeds out of his shoulders. "You can't meet Malfoy Senior because he's locked up in Azkaban. Nasty place."

"Malfoy Senior's wife is off in France somewhere," Fred offers. "Word has it that she's avoiding England as much as possible save for visiting her son and husband on occasion."

"Can't really blame her," Hathier responds, feeling as though he should defend Narcissa Malfoy. "Her only son is in school and she can't be with her husband."

"Forgive me for being less than sympathetic in regards to her," George states curtly.

Hathier jerks back as if slapped. "She played a major part in how I was able to defeat Voldemort during the final battle." Fred tilts his head, face blank. George just stares at him with a cocked eyebrow. "She looked Voldemort in the eyes and lied to his face. She told him I was dead and that gave me an advantage." Hathier breathes deeply. "If anything, I owe her a life debt."

Fred sighs, hands coming up to rude at his face. "Okay," he nods. "Okay."

"We're trying," George tells him a moment later when the tension builds to an almost unbearable level. "We're really trying." He looks over Hathier's shoulder. "Have they been anywhere else besides Hogwarts?"

Changing the subject nearly fails. The twins obviously do not want to speak to him right now.

"We haven't been back for long," Hathier replies. "I'm still seeing people every other turn."

"You should take them to Diagon Alley," Fred suggests. "Maybe they'll find something much more interesting there."

George snorts. "Have they even seen the Room of Requirement?"

Hathier flushes. "No. Not yet."

"They've been stuck here long enough it would seem."

Hathier cocks an eyebrow, flamed face cooling off quickly. "Are you offering to be their tour guides?"

"You have to meet up with Andromeda."

Simple. Lackluster. Hathier looks away.

"How do you - "

Fred waves his hand and the curtains covering the room's windows fly open and the windows follow after to let in a gentle breeze. The soft smell of salt, more than likely from the lake, fills the air. It's a comforting scent if Hathier is silently honest with himself. The relaxed hum he hears from Luthrin only confirms the slow tension fleeing the room.

"Andromeda is at Grimmauld with Teddy," Fred offers. "Something about inheritance. You should probably head over."

Hathier blinks once, twice, and then sighs. "Will you both talk to me properly later?"

"You can treat us to drinks at some point and we'll discuss life after the war," George answers. There's a small smile on his face now. It eases the hurt away from Hathier's heart. "For now, get going. You have a lot to accomplish before you're...gone."

 _There's a pain in my heart that leaves me breathless,_

 _The pounding in my ears leaves me wanting,_

 _The sweat on my skin leaves me aching. [1]_

Grimmauld has been completely redecorated and Hathier _loves_ it. He loves it so much because he can breathe easily. He loves it so much because he can walk into the obviously well-loved home and not feel pain. Sirius wouldn't have wanted the place to remain cold, dreary, and full of haunted memories of the past and mistakes of those who lived in it before.

"Hathier, darling, is that you?"

The question is followed by loud, excited baby babble.

"Yes, Andy!" Hathier doesn't spend another second admiring the way the new wallpaper sparkles with stars of varying sizes nor the way everything is bigger and rooms completely changed.

"I'm in the kitchen, dear."

He makes his way towards the kitchen, memories of Molly Weasley's cooking entering his head. True, Grimmauld was never a place he nor Sirius considered a home, but that didn't stop Molly from doing her best to make it as homely as possible. Andromeda certainly changed a lot of the place and for the better. Hathier entertains the thought of running into the portrait of Sirius' mother.

 _Wouldn't that be something?_ He muses.

"Don't get lost, Hathier." Hathier blinks. Andromeda is standing before him, Teddy on her hip. They're both smiling up at him. "I know things are a little different," Hathier snorts, "but I didn't want this to be a place Teddy grows to hate. It's rightfully his home." She hands over Teddy before Hathier can even ask for the child. "Narcissa has given it up and Draco has made it unclear on whether he wants it or not. That boy can be incredibly indecisive. Really, it's for you to decide. I don't care either way. Draco will not kick us out even if he chooses to live here after graduating."

"It's nice to know that you're on speaking terms with your younger sister and nephew."

It's all he offers.

Andromeda gently guides Hathier to the kitchen - far larger than he expected - and lets him go to finish whatever meal she planned before his arrival. "Cissy and I had a good, long talk about our lives leading up to the second war." Andromeda stirs something in a large pot on the stove. It smells amazing. "We yelled at each other. Threw spells at each other. I hugged her when she collapsed. She begged for forgiveness and I gave it to her."

"I'm glad you two have managed some sort of reconciliation, Andy." Hathier nuzzles the tip of his nose along Teddy's incredibly soft hairline. "I would like to speak to her before I leave."

"I will see about contacting her," Andromeda replies immediately. "She will certainly wish to speak to you."

 _Life debt_ , Hathier thinks. _Life debt_.

"Where is Kreacher?" Come to think of it, he can't sense the decrepit little house elf at all.

"He passed on," Andromeda answers absent-mindedly. "A few months ago. I don't think he wanted to be separated from his mistress anymore." There's something bitter in the way she speaks that has Hathier hug Teddy a little closer to himself.

He doesn't feel as upset as he probably should be. Kreacher lied to him about Sirius but helped in the war when it came to Regulus Black. Deception to one and devotion to the other, Hathier thinks Kreacher didn't have much of a life to begin with. He took his orders easily despite being beaten. He only wanted to please a select few of the Black family.

"How did you get rid of the portrait?" Hathier doesn't feel the need to clarify.

There has only ever been one ridiculously loud portrait in the entire house.

"Blew out the entire wall. Well," she pauses in stirring to look over her shoulder, "it was actually Draco who did it. He did most of the redecorating as well."

"Draco blew out the wall?"

"He took great delight in doing so. I needed help and no one else was available at the time to watch Teddy. I gave him a few instructions but ultimately told him he was allowed to redecorate as he saw fit. You should see the library, Hathier, it's stunning." Andromeda goes back to stirring. "Down the hall, last door on the right. Go see for yourself."

Holding Teddy securely, Hathier leaves the kitchen and follows the instructions given to him. He bounces Teddy a little, heart bursting with joy when he receives a toothless smile and pauses outside the door. The words - "Knowledge is only powerful when used wisely." - are carved into the door in an elegant fashion. Adjusting his hold on the infant, Hathier opens the door and steps inside.

Once the door is closed, Hathier looks around.

It really _is_ stunning. The walls are a solid dark lavender and the dark brown bookcases touch the ceiling. There are a few tables about and several plush chairs. Large windows, curtains drawn back, provide light for the room with a large window seat underneath a few of them. He wonders what sort of magic allows him to see the outside, but figures it's not overly important.

 _Malfoy has good taste_ , he thinks. _But that's always been the case even if he's a reformed jerk_.

"Your cousin did a good job, didn't he, Teddy Bear?" Hathier presses little kisses onto Teddy's chubby cheeks. "Look at how pretty everything is!"

Teddy babbles happily.

Hathier's good mood is contagious.

"And who might you be?"

Hathier whirls around, clutching Teddy close to himself. Above the doorway, staring at him with large grey eyes, is a portrait of a man who looks a lot like Sirius but younger. His hair is longer, his face is thinner, and he looks more interested than displeased. Blinking, Hathier moves closer. The shape of the nose is familiar and the somewhat crocked upturn of his lips - "You're Regulus Black, aren't you?"

"That I am, but you have not answered my question."

"I go by Hathier now, but I was originally known as Harry Potter."

The interest fades to annoyance and then morphs to pain before completing blanking.

"Potter," he mumbles. "Of course. My brother had every intention of leaving our home to the son of his best friend."

 _It was never his home!_

"I won't be keeping it," Hathier replies instead of countering the "home" comment. "I won't be in England much longer and I won't ever be returning."

A perfectly sculpted eyebrow raises. "Is that so?" Hathier nods. "And why is that?"

"I've found a new home," he answers honestly. "A place of healing. It will eventually fall to dark times, but I will be there to save it in any way I can."

"And once it's saved, do you plan to leave that home as well?" Hathier can't tell if the portrait of Sirius' brother is being intentionally cruel or not. "I'm asking because I would have never thought I'd see a Potter run away."

Hathier glares. "I'm not running away," he all but snarls.

"Oh? A, pray tell, what are you doing?"

"Healing," Hathier spits. "That is different." Teddy wiggles, unease clear on his face. His hair changes to a dark blue color. "I'm sorry," he whispers to the baby. "I have lost nearly everyone I've ever loved." He pushes, feeling angry. "Including my godfather, _your_ older brother, and his only living best friend not even two years later and he left behind his own son. I have every right to be selfish at this point in my life."

 _Word vomit. Word vomit. I hate this._

Regulus blinks slowly, gazing down at him with mild amusement and that annoys Hathier.

"Though," Hathier continues, "I'm sure you have a clear concept of what it means to be selfish."

"Don't compare our situations," Regulus replies softly. There's a bitter edge to his voice. "I died with too many regrets and I'll never see my brother again. I'll never be able to apologize." He moves out of view. "Come closer." Hathier turns around. Regulus is in another, smaller portrait. He moves toward it, caution in every step he takes. "Relax. I have no ability to harm you. Though, I wouldn't even if given the opportunity."

"How are you unable to see Sirius?" Hathier doesn't know how portraits work if he's honest with himself. "Is there even a portrait for him?"

"Yes," Regulus speaks quietly. "But it remains empty. Unlike how I died, drowned by those blasted inferi, Sirius was sent into the veil by Bellatrix*. His portrait will remain empty." Hathier cannot help that his heart goes out to the man despite his anger at the words spoken mere minutes ago. "I can not say the same thing about our souls. If we have met up or not, in what muggles call the 'afterlife,' will remain unanswered."

"You have," Hathier states. He will not be here much longer but he can ease the hurt where it is for those he can. What else can he really say to words like those? "Sirius thought you foolish, but he still loves you. I know because I remember the look in his eyes when he talked about you."

Regulus huffs a laugh and leans forward so much so that Hathier briefly thinks he'll actually fall out of the portrait. "How is it that you are kind despite your life?"

"I am full of anger and pain and regret, but I try to not be cruel unless it's warranted. I want others to have the closure I know I'll probably never receive. I hope that one day I will, at the very least, achieve contentedness despite my losses."

"I can see why my brother was so fixated on the Potter family," comes the soft reply. "They have always been kind from a distance."

"I won't ever know about that," Hathier states truthfully, "but I do know that I don't want to live a life full of grudges and regrets. I want to heal and that process can't be here."

He brings the conversation to a full circle.

"Who do you intend to leave this place too?"

Hathier looks down at Teddy. "To his cousin, if he wants it. To my godson, if he wants. It's been changed for the better. I may donate it or sign it over to another person. I will have no use for it after I leave. I may even just let Andy decide."

"Leave it to Draco," Regulus requests more than outright demanding. "Draco will either leave it to young Teddy or to his own children. He has not entered the Malfoy Manor in nearly a year."

That's news to Hathier but also none of his business.

"Truthfully, I can't even give you a response to that. According to Andy, he's been very indecisive."

And the conversation carries.

He learns a lot about Draco Malfoy in the year after the war.

 _A gift from those you love,_

 _Bestowed on you with all their love,_

 _Do not knock their love,_

 _Because it is the only true love. [2]_

"I'm not taking all the books in the library," Hathier repeats for the second time. Andromeda is very insistent that he do so. "Where do you expect me to put them when I return to Middle Earth?"

Andromeda raises an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed. "You live with elven royalty and you're telling me they have no room?"

"Well, that not what I - "

"You still have your magic, Hathier. Create another room and place them in there!" It's a petty argument, but Hathier honestly doesn't believe he needs all those books. He's barely made a dent in the history of Middle Earth located in the equally as beautiful library in Mirkwood. "There are so many books in that library, Hathier! So many! Books on dark magic and black magic and healing magic. Books on the history of great witches and wizards. Books on transformations and calling forth spirits and sacred bonds. It's a variety of knowledge and it all belongs to you."

"The library will be empty," Hathier tells her. "What's a library without books?"

"You're acting as if books cannot be replaced," Andromeda shakes her head. "Hathier, they rightfully belong to you. Sirius left you so much more than books. There are letters and pictures and nicknacks. He left you so much gold, it's hilarious. He left you his personal journals and things that belonged to your father and Remus, things they agreed to leave with him."

Hathier looks at little Teddy, fast asleep in his playpen with a shimmering gold barrier over it so that the infant isn't woken up by their voices, and sighs. "I want the books on healing magic. I think Sirius had a book of animagus transformations? If so, I want that. I have no need for books on dark or black magic. What use will they be to me in Middle Earth? There's no guarantee that any child I ever sire will obtain the same magic I do."

Andromeda snorts. "You won't know until it happens."

"They wouldn't be able to obtain a wand," Hathier throws in. "What then?"

"Wandless magic can be taught. Wandless magic can be just as powerful."

They're reaching a standstill.

"I need to think about this," he settles with. "Please."

"Alright," Andromeda responses. "But you don't have a lot of time, Hathier. Less than five days and you'll be gone."

"Yeah," Hathier states. "I understand."

 _As time draws near,_

 _Not everything is crystal clear._

 _You're losing faith in your heart,_

 _Because the world is falling apart. [3]_

"They are much like Lord Elrond's sons," Legolas tells him later that evening. "They enjoy pranks too much but can ultimately be serious when the time is appropriate." There's a wistful tone present in his words. "Elladan is quicker to be serious than Elrohir but they tend to feed off each other. They would be very interested in what your friends have been able to create, Hathier."

"You miss your friends," he replies. "You should see them when we return to Mirkwood."

Legolas laughs but it sounds more bitter than pleasant to Hathier's ears. "If only it were that simple. My father...struggles with Lord Elrond. History was not kind to them when they were my age." He sends Hathier an amused smile. "History you will learn off eventually. Elves do not go about the lands of Middle Earth without knowing of their forefathers. I still get to see them but not as often as I'd like - "

A peel of laughter has them pause to look at the other side of the room. Luthrin is covering his face in embarrassment while Fred and George send each other knowing looks of entertainment. Hathier frowns. If they're making fun of Luthrin to satisfy their own amusement, he'll - "Please," Luthrin starts, "it's not like that nor shall it ever be."

"If only they wouldn't tease him," Legolas whispers.

"Tease him about what?"

Cocking an eyebrow, Legolas nods towards a quickly reddening Luthrin as he shakes his head to dissolve the suggestive remarks towards his person. "Luthrin has romantic intentions towards Galtara."

"Really?" In all honesty, Hathier hasn't noticed. Though, he isn't exactly known for being able to always tell if someone has interest in himself or someone around him. "I haven't noticed. Is something like that allowed?" He feels his own cheeks heat up. "I mean - I - uh - men with men and women with women?" _Oh, that's a bad way of putting it._ "Male elves with male elves?" _That's the same exact thing!_

Legolas just laughs at his misfortune but his eyes are kind. "Immortality, Hathier, can be very lonely at times. We do not live the lives we do and only seek comfort or love from beings whom may be opposite from us within our own race. Elves don't care for that sort of thing. We can, and will, take as many male lovers as we do female lovers. Some elves prefer men over other elves. It is common."

"Oh."

"Is that not common here?"

Hathier shrugs. "I don't actually know about that particular topic among witches and wizards because I never thought of asking, but some muggles don't like the idea of men loving other men or women loving other women. They consider it wrong or...unnatural." He looks away from Legolas' anger stare. "It's a complicated topic and I wouldn't be able to answer all of the questions you have."

"I see."

 _He doesn't_ , Hathier thinks because Legolas has an unsatisfied look on his face. "Is Galtara aware?"

Legolas shrugs elegantly - _How does he do that?!_ \- and looks at the other side of the room. "Galtara is like my father in a lot of ways." His lips twitch. "Difficult to understand." They share a quiet laugh. "But I believe he has some inkling of an idea. If your friends can figure it out so quickly then I doubt he _isn't_ unaware."

"Where is he? And your father?"

"Galtara finds Madam Pomfrey's company to be delightful," Legolas answers. "He mentioned that not many healers have the backbone she does."

Hathier grins. "She doesn't like nonsense. She's nice but sometimes likes to pick on us because we usually end up in her care because of some ridiculous reason or another." _Or my friends and I were fighting for our lives._

"Galtara believes the healers of Mirkwood would benefit from a discussion with her but alas..." Legolas shrugs again. Biting his lip, Hathier inquires about King Thranduil. "Retired to the room provided for him."

"Oh."

"What's wrong?"

Looking towards the window, curtains drawn back and near full moon shining through, Hathier sighs. "I feel bad. I've been off trying to make amends and settle things officially before leaving and I'm not balancing time with - "

"Do not let it trouble you," Legolas interrupts. "A week to an elf is but a second to a man. This isn't our world and we accept that we will not come to know it the way you will come to know Middle Earth. My father understands this, Hathier. We all do. You have much to get done and you wish to see your friends one final time. Saying goodbye...is difficult."

'But at least you get to' goes unsaid.

 _There's hope in the darkness,_

 _Like seeing stars over the city._

 _Don't stop looking until you see,_

 _The lights are there for you and me. [4]_

The moment Hathier enters the room with little Teddy in his arms the following morning, everything and everyone falls to a hush. Tauriel, next to Legolas, stands up first. She has been unusually absent since meeting Ginny but Hathier considers it a win on his part. They're getting along and Ginny has probably told Tauriel a lot about him, the good and bad, and they've come to an understanding.

"This is...Teddy?" Tauriel asks, unsure by the look on her face.

Hathier smiles a little and nods. "Teddy, this is my friend. Her name is Tauriel." Teddy, with wide light brown eyes, looks at Tauriel and slowly, under the gaze of everyone, changes his hair the exact shade of red as Tauriel. He giggles when she smiles at him. Tauriel blinks in shock when Teddy starts waving his arms in her direction.

"He wants you to hold him. Would you like to?"

"I - If I could? If that is alright?"

The careful exchange, where Hathier notices how Tauriel practically stops breathing for a moment, is done quickly. The moment Teddy is in her arms, he starts babbling excitingly. After that, the others start approaching except for King Thranduil who only spares them a glance before looking down at the book in his lap. Hathier absentmindedly notes that he is in similar clothing at Legolas and his crown is not present.

With one last look to Teddy, Hathier walks over to him.

"Your Highness, are you alright?"

"I am well," King Thranduil replies although he seems to be looking over Hathier's shoulder when he looks up. "I find the history of this castle interesting." For a king, his second statement would seem like a bad attempt at a subject change but Hathier pushes his concern away. "Four houses based on personality traits? Allowing students of different backgrounds to attend? You've mentioned this before but reading about it provides another perspective."

Hathier nods. "I didn't grow up with the knowledge of the wizarding world so you'll find more details in the history books than I can ever provide for you." Then, quickly, he tacts on "Your Highness."

King Thranduil's lips twitch in amusement but he otherwise doesn't comment on the slip. He does, however, comment on the castle's specific magic. "How does one even go about altering the stairs? I recall you mentioning it before but it is incredibly ridiculous."

Taking a seat next to the elf king, Hathier crosses one leg over the other and places his hands in his lap. "I've been told it's to confuse any and all potential enemies if they manage to get inside. As a student, I can assure you that the moving staircases can be very inconvenient. Especially, mind you, if you're running late to class."

"Did that happen often?"

Hathier looks away, huffing. "Certain circumstances made it difficult for me to sleep." _Dark lords. Prophecies. My mind wasn't my own._ "It happens. The only time I got a decent amount of sleep was when I stayed with the Weasleys. Sirius was there most of the time."

"I often walk the floors of my kingdom when sleep alludes me. Elves don't need to sleep," King Thranduil states quietly, "but we do enjoy it when we can."

"I sleep," Hathier replies with confusion. "I sleep every night in Mirkwood."

The king hums softly. "I would consider your circumstances, Hathier. You are an elf but you were originally a wizard. Very few elves can do magic but nowhere near are we on your level. Your original state likely affects you as you are now. Though, my son states you are a 'bad elf' for reasons unknown to me. Once you know our history, I believe you will be fine."

Hathier frowns. "Prince Legolas likes to tease me. I stumble over nothing. I'm not always aware of my surroundings. I can barely use a bow and arrow. I, for one, believe him to be a very bad teacher." It brings forth a chuckle that has him smiling. A high-pitched giggle draws his attention away from his conversation with Mirkwood's king.

Luthrin is holding Teddy now and the infant is tightly gripping one of the many braids the elf fashioned for the day. Galtara is peering at Teddy from over the elf's shoulder, smiling down at him. Tauriel is speaking quietly to Legolas and the expressions on their face make Hathier concerned. Whatever it is, they occasionally glance in his direction. He doesn't think they're talking about him but rather King Thranduil.

If he manages free time, he'll ask them about it later.

"Would you like to hold Teddy, Your Highness?"

With his better hearing, Hathier hears the low, sharp intake of breath.

"No," comes the quiet reply. "I - Not right now. Thank you."

Sensing that, perhaps, the king would like to return to his book; Hathier stands up and offers an inclination of his head. "If you would like to discuss what you learn from any book you've picked up to read, please let me know."

"Thank you, Hathier."

He takes that as a dismissal and moves back towards Teddy. With a grin and a flare of happiness, he plucks Teddy right out of a playfully frowning Luthrin and twirls around. "Have you been making new friends, Teddy Bear?" Teddy lets out a string of baby babble and reaches for Hathier's hair. He gives a few hard tugs before putting said hair into his mouth. "Teddy, no! Don't eat that. It's bad for you."

His tone remains playful as he pulls the damp hair from the boy's mouth and Teddy just shoots him a gummy smile as his hair changes to the exact shade of black that he has.

"Can all wizards do that?" Galtara asks while tapping the tip of his finger over Teddy's nose smiling at the giggle he gets in return.

"No," Hathier answers. "Wizards and witches are unique in a lot of ways but even I know there are very few metamorphmagus'. Being able to change your appearance at will, that is. They're rare." He nuzzles Teddy's cheek with his nose. "His mother was one. She was born with the ability. Teddy is lucky, I suppose. There's no guarantee that any children he has - _decades_ later - will have the ability."

"It's truly random?" Luthrin asks.

"Correct, but unfortunate," Hathier replies and offers a halfhearted smile when he receives simultaneous frowns. "It would have been nice to change my appearance every once and a while." _To have a life out of the papers. To have nobody know my name. To be left alone to walk about peacefully._

"Speaking of appearances, would any of you like to see what Hathier looked like before he got a makeover?"

Hathier snaps his head to the entrance of the room where Neville is standing next to Luna. He licks his lips. "Are they bad pictures?"

Luna smiles. "There is no such thing as a bad picture!"

"I think you'll find many muggles who would disagree with you," Hathier deadpans.

"As if their opinion matters," Neville snorts. "Besides, these are important pictures of you. They're also ones that you'll be taking with you back to...Middle Earth, was it? Either way, Luna found them in one of the trunks you left behind." Hathier feels his breath catch in his throat. Teddy fusses in his arms when his change in mood becomes apparent.

Forcing himself to relax, Hathier smiles a little. "Alright. If you insist."

 _Luna blends in with the elve_ s, he thinks. She all but glides forward with an attentive, smiling Neville behind and situates herself among his new friends. She's greeted with "My lady" and pulls a small photo album from her side pouch. Logically, it's too big for said pouch but Hathier can't help but smile at the way the elves react when she settles completely among them and opens the album. Neville presses a kiss to her temple before moving closer to him.

A low murmur begins among the group and Hathier observes until Neville nudges his shoulder. "How have things been?"

"Truthfully, it hurts a lot." He speaks as softly as he can. "Coming back only to leave again. Trying to make time to right wrongs, settle property I won't need, and talk to people that need to be talked too. Looking at all of you and knowing that the only way I'd see or speak to you is by mirror - a small mirror - won't ever be enough. But," he continues when Tauriel's expression morphs into bewilderment at whatever photo she is looking at, "being with them is a breath of fresh air. I don't think I'll ever fully be okay, but they make it easier." His eyes sting with tears but he refuses to let them fall. "I'm so sorry."

Neville takes a sour-faced Teddy from his arms and playfully bites his left cheek before smothering it with kisses. Teddy's delightful laughter quickly follows. "Don't be sorry, Harry." Hathier smiles when hearing his original name. "Don't you ever be sorry. The fact of the matter is that your life was forsaken before you were even born. You were molded into being everyone's savior and never had a decent childhood. Yes, you had Ron and Hermione and the Weasleys and, _eventually_ , Sirius and Remus, plus me and Luna and everyone else that matters, _but_ it doesn't change the fact that you spent half your life unloved and ignorant of what you rightfully deserved to know."

"Neville - "

"If they make things easier, even by a little, why do you think that would upset me?" It's asked with such honest sincerity that he knows his tears won't be held back for long.

Hathier sucks in a shaky breath. "Neville - "

"Luna and I spent nearly an entire year deflecting questions and ugly rumors and we're prepared to do it for the rest of our lives."

"You shouldn't - "

"I'm sorry that I keep interrupting you, but this is something you need to hear." Neville gently takes his arm and leads him out of the room. Teddy has fallen asleep in his hold. When the door closes behind them, Neville hugs him tightly - mindful of Teddy - and then lets him go. "You were denied a lot of choices and kept in the dark. You were hurting and those with the authority to help you were not there when you needed them. It's different from those who wanted to be there for you but were constantly denied access. I'm not going to make excuses for them nor will I withhold my opinions on what you choose to do. Yes, we miss you. Yes, leaving the Weasleys the way you did wasn't fair to them. Yes, the wizarding world owes you more than you can possibly imagine."

Hathier feels the wetness trail down his face.

"Yes, you had the right to leave. Yes, you have a right to leave again. Merlin, Harry, do you have the right to take control of your life!" Teddy wiggles sleepily in his hold so Neville pauses for a moment before continuing. "You'll never go through life regretless but you can learn from your mistakes and carry on. I know you possess the ability to keep moving forward because that's what you've spent your whole life doing. This isn't to say that you should forget your past and everything and everybody you know, but to understand that you're allowed to move on to a better future." Neville shrugs. "That future just isn't here and everyone else will just have to get over it."

He doesn't say anything more and pulls Hathier into another hug, careful of the sleeping infant in his arm.

"T-Thank you," Hathier sobs quietly. "Thank y-you f-for everything."

 _What did I do to deserve friends like these?_

"What else do you need done? What can Luna and I do to help?"

Pulling away, Hathier wipes at his swollen eyes. "There's still some property that needs to be settled. Where do you and Luna stay?"

"We don't need - "

"Sirius left me a villa in Italy," he interrupts. "It's yours if you want it. To live in or use as a vacation home. I haven't been to it and I honestly don't plan to go look at it at any point so I don't know the condition it's in but you're welcome it. I can sign it over today. I'm basically leaving Grimmauld to Andromeda and, if something happens to her, she already plans on leaving it to Draco Malfoy until Teddy is of age. If he refuses, it'll be there when Teddy is old enough to own it. Sirius' motorcycle will stay with Hagrid," Hathier longs to see his friend, "and there's the Potter Cottage in Godric's Hollow. I won't be going there at all. Work probably has to be done to it but I'm giving it to Ginny."

Neville sighs. "I speak to Luna about it. I'll let you know later today."

"Thank you."

"Anything else?"

"I want to speak to a couple of people," Hathier responds slowly. He scrubs at his face, feeling how tight it is after his cry. "Malfoy's parents, for starters. Astoria Greengrass, if she is willing."

Ever the champ, Neville does not question why he wants to speak to those people. He merely offers an encouraging smile and nods. "No worries, Harry, but I would advise you to contact Narcissa Malfoy as soon as possible. She doesn't enter England unless - "

" - she is visiting her husband or son. Yes, Andromeda has made me aware and I think she's already contacted her. Does Astoria Greengrass still attend Hogwarts?"

"I'm not sure. Luna still takes classes in Hogwarts, but she lives with me in a flat out on the countryside. I'll ask her later."

"Thank you - wait! You aren't a student?"

Grinning, Neville shakes his head. "No. Seventh years were given an option to return but less than half decided to. Unsurprisingly, the majority of Slytherin's seven years didn't return. Malfoy is the only one from his original group of...friends. According to Luna, he keeps to himself and only speaks when spoken too. I think she's trying to befriend him and I'm not sure how I feel about that but Luna is her own person so I'm not going to complain. She's made it clear that he's only ever polite to her. I doubt he'll do anything that'll make him end up in a cell across from his dad. The public has their eye on him and will cling to anything that could even remotely put him in a bad light. Well, worse than the one he's in now. I actually pity him."

Hathier doesn't make a petty comment or sound. He doesn't stand there and think 'he deserves this' or anything along those negative lines. The reality of the matter is that he pities Draco Malfoy like he knows he's been pitied when his face was splashed across The Daily Prophet and his words were twisted into something their not or the information flat out lies about him.

"It'll die down," he hears himself say. "The vultures will find something new to talk about and cling to it."

"That's wishful thinking and you know it. He's a Malfoy, Harry, and information about Narcissa Malfoy's visits to her husband and son are almost always front and center in the paper. Though, it's been about you recently."

"Of course it is," Hathier deadpans. "I'm Harry Potter."

"Yes, but not much longer."

And that makes Hathier grin a little. "Yeah. Not much longer."

* * *

So, FF has been having some trouble lately but it's working right now so I'm going to upload while I can. I planned to upload on the 10th originally, but things happen and whatnot.

 **Anyway, just a few things:** the pairings for this story have already been decided but the only ones you know ahead of time are listed at the top of the prologue (chapter 1 if you're on mobile) and those officially stated pairings will  not change, there will be no more promises about updates (it's not fair to you or me) but know that I have no intentions of abandoning this story, previous chapters will be edited when I can make time for them (and that includes deleting this author's note when the time comes), and receiving suggestions doesn't necessarily mean I'm going to use them (if I do, I'll give credit).

Thank you for your support so far. If you have the time, please review.

~i-just-really-love-sakura

*Drowning and being sent through the veil are two very different ways of dying. Because the book does not explicitly state that Regulus becomes one of the inferi, I'll be sticking with the very simple (and sad) case of he died via drowning and his body was torn apart by the inferi. Sirius' death differs because his entire being was removed from the land of the living when Bellatrix sent him through the veil.

To simplify, Regulus died in the living room under horrifying circumstances and Sirius was quite literally knocked off balance and sent straight to the land of the dead via a single curse by Bellatrix.


End file.
